


A League of His Own

by innerdialogue



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Family, Fatherhood, Fluff, Harvey x Mike - Freeform, Kid Fic, M/M, More tags as they come, financial support, hopefully very little angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-01-19 05:00:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1456402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/innerdialogue/pseuds/innerdialogue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Harvey Specter steps in to help a down-on-his-luck single father, he has no idea how much his life is going to change.  Mike Ross is an enigma, and Harvey quickly finds out that there might actually be very little he wouldn't do for him.  Especially after he meets Mike's son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thanks to skyenapped for her encouragement and beta services.

       Ordinarily, Harvey Specter wouldn’t be caught dead as far north as the Bronx.  Even before he became the newest Senior Partner at Pearson Hardman, New York’s top law firm, he had an image to maintain, one of sleek offices, fast cars, and thousand dollar three-piece suits.  It was all part of playing the role as the best attorney money could buy, and it wouldn’t do for some of his more affluent clients to see him “slumming” off of the Island.

       What his clients didn’t realize was that Harvey had grown up in the Bronx. He had gone to school in the Bronx, played baseball in its parks, and even nowadays returns to a seedy little gym on Saturdays to box.  While not as impressive perhaps as downtown Manhattan, the Bronx is just as important to Harvey as all his roots lay north of the Harlem River.

       The Bronx also holds one thing above Manhattan, and that is the Bronx Zoo.  Harvey has been to the Central Park Zoo, back when he had first moved onto the Island and was dating a pretty young co-ed from NYU, but for him, the Bronx Zoo would always be superior.

       His brother, Marcus, obviously thinks so, too, or else neither of them would be there early on a Saturday morning, waiting with Marcus’ family to enter the animal park.

       “I want to see the lemurs,” Eliza Specter proclaims, tugging insistently on Harvey’s hand.  Eliza is eight years old and had wrapped her uncle around her finger from the moment Harvey held her in his hands.  “They’re so cute, Uncle Harvey.”

       “I don’t know,” Harvey says doubtfully.  “Aren’t lemurs kind of scary?”

       “No!” cries Eliza.  “They’re not!  They’re the cutest animals ever!”

       Marcus laughs.  “I wouldn’t start an argument with her, Harv.  You know you’ll never win.”

       “I get paid ridiculously large amounts of money to argue,” Harvey reminds him.  “I’d find something to use against her.”

       “Don’t count on it,” Hannah, Marcus’s wife, says.   She carries an infant Elliot on her chest.  The baby, unaware of the zoological debate going on around him, continues to mouth at a chubby, spit-covered fist.  “Even the best Closer in the New York City couldn’t convince her otherwise.”

       “Then we’ll settle,” Harvey says, and Eliza gives a cheer.  ‘Settlements’ usually mean presents when it comes to Harvey and his niece.  He is sure that one of the gift shops around the zoo will have stuffed lemurs looking to go home with a very, very excited third grader.

       Eliza continues to educate Harvey on lemurs and why they are so cute as their group moves closer to the ticket booth.  Harvey, who has always been able to multitask rather well, keeps an ear on his niece as well as listening for the girl behind the Plexiglas window. It’s not that he regularly eavesdrops on other people.  Harvey would rather just be aware of his surroundings, so not it’s not totally by accident when he hears the conversation the ticket seller is having with the man in front of their group.

       “I’m so sorry, sir,” Harvey hears the girl behind the Plexiglas say, “but we don’t accept this promotion anymore.”

       The man at the ticket booth, the one preventing Harvey and his family from purchasing their own tickets, looks down at the slip of paper in his hand.  “I don’t understand.  It’s says free admission for kids on their birthday.”

       The girl nods patiently.  “Yes, sir, it does, but this promotion ended last month.  I’m afraid you’ll have to pay the full ticket price.”

       At the man’s feet, a boy a couple of years younger than Eliza plays with the zipper on his jacket.  He pulls the slider up and down, listening to the sound it makes against the teeth.  The man bends down to pick up his son, balancing him on his hip.

       “How much for the full price ticket?” he asks.

       The girl glances between the man and his son before answering hesitantly.  “It’ll be forty three dollars and ninety cents for the both of you.”

       Even from where he’s standing, Harvey can see the mortification settle on the other man’s shoulders.  He glances at his son who is still occupied with his jacket zipper, and reaches up to brush the boy’s light hair from his forehead.

       “I haven’t got enough,” the man says lowly, quite clearly embarrassed.  His cheeks and the back of his neck flush a deep red.  He looks at his son once more before shaking his head lightly.  “That’s--It doesn’t matter.  Thank you. I’m sorry I wasted your time.”

       Even as the man turns away from the ticket booth, his son questioning loudly about where they’re going, Harvey is moving.  Marcus calls out after him, but Harvey is already in front of the man and his son, hand outstretched.

       “Excuse me, sir, but I think you dropped this.”

       Blue eyes meet Harvey’s briefly before dropping to stare at the folded fifty dollar bill tucked between Harvey’s fingers.

       “No, that’s not--”

       “It is,” Harvey insisted, pushing the bill into the man’s hand.  “It must have fallen from your pocket when you pulled out your wallet.”

       Their eyes meet again, and Harvey nods firmly.  For a moment, he fears that the man is going to refuse, to throw Harvey’s money back in his face, but he relaxes when the man nods and accepts the bill.  He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing, and hitches his son higher onto his hip.

       “Thank you,” he says and turns back again toward the ticket booth.

       Returning to his brother’s family, Harvey tries to act as nonchalantly as he can.  Marcus, however, slaps him on the shoulder as Hannah gives him a bright and teary smile.  Eliza tugs on Harvey’s pants, demanding to know if Harvey knows the man and the little boy.

       Harvey simply shrugs and steps forward at the girl behind the Plexiglas calls for the next visitor.

  
  


***

 

       Harvey doesn’t give the man at the zoo much more thought over the weekend.  The new work week brings new cases and new challenges at Pearson Hardman, and Harvey is forced to focus on finding a way to save his client’s ass from their own stupidity.  He simply doesn’t have time to think about a man he met once in the queue at the zoo.

       “Donna, where the hell are the Compton files?” Harvey demands late Monday morning, not bothering to press the intercom button.  He knows that Donna listens.

       “They arrived an hour ago,” his assistant says.  Through the glass, he can see her working at her computer.  She doesn’t even turn around to talk to him.  “My chair is a little wobbly, though, so I’m using them to balance it out.”

       “Donna,” he growls.

       “I can’t give you what I don’t have,” Donna replies.  She finally turns around in her chair to level him with a look.  “You’ll get them when I get them, Harvey.”

       Clenching his jaw, Harvey leans back in his own chair.  The briefs were supposed to be here by mid-morning, and it is closer to lunch than it is breakfast.  While he is more than capable of working without them, he prefers working with concrete information than guess work.  A lack of information only brings a lack of results, and Harvey Specter always got results.

       Harvey closes his laptop and stands, grabbing his suit jacket from the back of his chair.

       “I’m going out for an early lunch,” he says, slipping his arms into his jacket sleeves.  “Text me when the briefs get here.”

       Donna salutes him as he leaves.

       While most of the Senior Partners send out their assistants to trendy, high-end bistros for their lunches, Harvey has no problems simply grabbing a hotdog from the street vendor outside of Pearson Hardman’s building.  It remains a point of contention between him and Jessica, who has long since ceased in trying to dissuade him from eating “dirty street food” like some blue-collar worker out of a construction site, but Harvey is adamant that the best hotdogs in the city come from the cart outside their office.

       He orders two hotdogs and covers them in liberally in mustard and chopped onion--Donna would have something to say about onion breath later, and his tailor would kill him for even thinking about mustard while wearing a suit--but Harvey has a bottle of mouthwash in his office and blood stains are harder to get out of suits than mustard.  He figures he is safe.

       “Heads up!”

       Something quick darts past Harvey, clipping his elbow and smashing his lunch against the lapels of his suit.

       “Goddamnit!” Harvey swears.  Rene is going to have his head.  The hotdog vendor needlessly hands over a stack of napkins; the suit is a goner.

       “Dude, I’m so sorry,” the man on the bicycle says, circling back.  “You okay?”

       “Don’t call me dude,” Harvey growls, wiping ineffectually at the mustard stain.   “And watch where you’re going.”

       “I’m sorry,” the cyclist says again.  “I’ve got a stack of files to deliver and I’m already late as it is.”

       Harvey’s head snaps up.  Being nearly run over by the courier carrying his briefs is quite the coincidence.

       The person delivering them is, too.

       “Oh, shit, it’s you,” the courier says.  His cheeks flare red as he covers his face with a gloved hand.

       “It’s me.”

       “Do you work here?” He points to the building towering above them.  “In this building?”

       “I’m a lawyer at Pearson Hardman.”

       The kid gestures to the messenger bag strapped to his back.  “I’ve got a delivery for some ass-hat named Harvey Specter.  Who the hell names their kid Harvey?”

       “Actually, it was my great-grandfather’s name,” Harvey replies.  He enjoys watching the realization dawn on the kids face with the same relish he enjoys when he lets opposing counsel know just how tightly he has their balls in his fist.”

       “You’re Harvey Specter,” the kid says.  “Holy shit.  The lawyer who I’m supposed to be delivering this files to, and the man who has personally loaned me money.”

       “The man whose suit you’ve managed to ruin and whose name you’ve managed to make fun of,” Harvey adds with false awe. “If only you delivered legal documents just as efficiently.”

       “I’m sorry, I didn’t--,” the kid apologizes.  “Look, I tried to find you at the zoo, but you’re a hard guy to track down.  Seems like I owe you more than fifty bucks now, though.”

       “You don’t owe me anything,” Harvey says.  Except maybe another hotdog.

       He throws his ruined lunch in the trash can and turns on his heel back toward the office.  He has a spare suit hanging in the closet of his office, and he somehow needs to make it back up to the fiftieth floor without attracting attention with his mustard stain.  Luckily, it has restrained itself to the jacket.

       “No, I do, man.”  The kid is following him now, walking his bike after him.  Harvey would be annoyed if he didn’t need the files the kid had on him.  “Fifty dollars might be couch change for you, but it’s a lot of money for me.  Without it, I wouldn’t have been able to take my kid to the zoo.”

       “Consider it a birthday present from me to your son.”

       “Thanks, but I still have to pay you back.”

       Harvey nods at the security guards inside the building.  He’s probably more grateful than he should be when they stop the bike messenger.  Unfortunately, every elevator is on another floor, so the kid has time to catch back up with him, sans bike.

       “My name’s Mike,” he says, offering a hand.  Harvey ignores it.  “Mike Ross.”

       “Well, Mike Ross, do you make a habit of running over pedestrians on their lunch break?”

       Mike blushes.  “I’m really sorry about that.  I told you I was in a rush.”

       “To deliver files I needed an hour ago,” Harvey says.  A bell announces the arrival of the elevator, and Mike moves to get on.  Harvey stops him with a hand against his chest.  “What are you doing?  You can give me the files here.”

       Mike shakes his head.  “Sorry.  I’ve got to take these all the way to your office.  I can’t just hand them over willy-nilly.”

       “Willy-nilly?” Harvey sneers.  “What are you, twelve?”

       He lets Mike onto the elevator, knowing making him wait for the next one would only keep him from his files longer.

       They ride the elevator door in silence, and as soon as the car arrives on the fiftieth floor, Harvey charges out, leaving Mike to catch up.  Most of the Partners are away at lunch, so Harvey makes a quick beeline to his corner office.  Donna is where he left her, sitting behind her desk.  She opens her mouth, a comment about the mustard sure to follow, but Harvey glares.

       “Don’t ask,” he growls, stalking past her.  “Just sign for the damn Compton files.”

       He catches the shared look between Mike and Donna, and, not for the first time, wishes the door of his office could be slammed.

 

***

 

       Most of the time, Mike Ross doesn’t think about being a single father.  His alarms goes off at six at which point he rises, showers, and dresses for the day.  After setting the coffee pot to percolate, he then moves on to drag his three year old from his own bed.  Malcolm, who is not and has never been a morning person even at three, naturally puts up as much struggle as he can.  Dressing twenty five pounds of dead weight in the morning is a skill Mike has learned early, and he considers it a point of pride that he can forcibly dress his son without waking him up.  Then its breakfast and down to Leslie Carlisle’s apartment two floors down where Mike drops Mal off before leaving for work.  Working two jobs, taking care of his son and grandmother, Mike is lucky if he thinks about anything other than the back of his eyelids when he finally drops into bed.

       Other times, it’s all he can think about.  It’s the single toothbrush on Mike’s bathroom counter and the empty chair at the breakfast table.  It’s the lonely jacket hanging on the hook by the door, and the way only the left side of Mike’s couch sags from use.

       He feels it especially in the empty space beside him in bed.

       And it’s not that he feels as though he needs someone there with him.  He and Mal have managed just fine on their own for three years.  Sure, Mike has had to make sacrifices--all parents do--but he has never once thought of his son as a burden.  He does what he needs to do to make sure that Mal is fed and warm and happy, and Mike doesn’t need anyone to help him do that.

       But, oh, his bed is empty sometimes.

       He channels that energy into work.  Not only does Mike have to support Mal, but he also has an elderly grandmother to provide for.  His Grammy’s healthcare is expensive, and if he wants to continue to keep her in the home that she’s in, he has to work as much as he can.  There isn’t much time for dating.

       That doesn’t mean he’s dead, however.

       “I’m telling you this guy is ridiculous,” Mike says as he sets the table for dinner with his grandmother.  “His haircut alone could probably buy groceries for two weeks.”

       Edith Ross chuckles from her place on the sofa.  At her knee, Malcolm leans against the coffee table, coloring with three crayons at the same time.

       “I don’t think I’ve heard you this infatuated with someone since high school,” she says, smiling.

       “Infatuated?” Mike scoffs.  “Grammy, the guy’s a complete tool.  The money he spent on that suit I ruined would probably cover my rent for the next two months.  I bet he even has a corner office.”

       Grammy raises her chin, a wry smile on her lips.  “It wasn’t so long ago that you were aiming for one of those offices yourself, Michael.”

       Mike shrugs.  “Things change, Gram.”

       Mike’s biggest change looks up from his crayons and holds up his paper.  “I’m done!”

       “That’s great!” Mike exclaims.  He walks around the small table to crouch down in front of Malcolm.  “What did you draw this time?”

       Mal grins.  “A dragon.  It’s lives at the zoo.”

       “The zoo?  We were just there.  How come I didn’t see him there?”

       “Because daddies can’t see him,” Mal explains.  “Only kids like me can see him.”

       “Well, what does he do while he’s hiding from all of the daddies and mommies?”

       Mal shrug his little shoulders and places the drawing carefully on the table.  “He eats cotton candy.”

       “Speaking of eating,” Mike say.  “Come wash your hands.  It’s dinner time.”

       

 

       “The nurses tell me that someone’s not taking their medication.”

       Dinner’s over, the dishes are drying by the sink, and Mike and his Grammy are sitting on the sofa.  Malcolm is wedged between them, trying desperately not to fall asleep.  His chips dips, once, twice, and then he’s asleep, face tucked into Mike’s side.  Wrapping his arm around Mal’s shoulder, Mike pulled his son closer, enjoying the simple, warm weight against his body.

       Edith huffs a sigh, rolling her eyes.  “They’re trying to kill me.”

       “They are not,” Mike insists.  “If they do it before January, they can’t count it toward next year’s quota.”

       She slaps his arm lightly.  “Michael.”

       “Listen to me,” Mike says, leaning over Mal’s head to look his grandmother in the eye.  “I want you here for a long time.  I want Malcolm to know his great-grandmother for as long as he can.  Part of that is taking your medication.”

       “I thought I raised you better than that,” Edith says, glaring at him.  “Blackmailing me with that sweet child.”

       “Not blackmail,” Mike says.  “Think of it more as an incentive.”

       Edith hums with false disapproval.  “Perhaps you were meant to be a lawyer after all, Michael.”

       Mike laughs softly as he takes Edith’s hand.  He squeezes gently, running a thumb over the soft, think skin over her knuckles.  “I’m serious, Grammy.  You need to take your meds.  Do you get it?”

       “Yes, yes,” Edith sighs.  “I’ll take the damn pills.”

       “Good,” Mike says.  He leans closer and presses a kiss to her forehead.  “Now I’ve got to get this little guy home and into bed or else he’ll be a handful tomorrow.”

       He is barely out of the door when his grandmother’s doctor waved him down.

       “Mr. Ross, I was hoping to speak with you before you left.”

       “Of course, Dr. Shraeger,” he says, hitching Mal higher up onto his hip.  “But can we talk while we walk?  I need to get my son home.

       “Of course,” the doctor says, falling into step beside him.  “Unfortunately, Mr. Ross, your grandmother’s getting worse.  I’ll need to move her to full care or else I’ll have to transfer her to a state facility.”

       “No, I won’t put her in a state facility.”

       “Then I’m afraid you’ll have to come up with twenty five thousand dollars.”

       Mike stops walking.

       “How much?”

       The doctor at least has the manners to look contrite.  “Twenty five thousand.  That’s what it’s going to cost to move Edith to full care.”

       Mike can only stand there as his mind whirs frantically.  Twenty five thousand dollars?  That’s more than he’s ever had in his bank account at one time.  Even picking up twice as many shifts at both of his jobs, there would be no way for him to get that much money, not with rent and food and Mal to think about.

       “How long do I have to pay it?” he asks.  He holds a hand to the back of Mal’s head, stroking the blond hair softly.

       “We’re willing to give you two weeks,” Dr. Shraeger says.  “After that…I’m afraid it’s either a state facility or she moves back home with you.”

       “Okay,” Mike says, swallowing past the lump in his throat.  “Yes, okay.  I’ll see what I can do.”

       Shraeger nods solemnly.  “Come back and visit her again soon.  She does better when you’re around.”

       With that, the doctor turns and walks back down the hallway, leaving Mike to hail a cab by himself.

 

***

 

       The second time Mike steps into the elevator of Pearson Hardman, he’s wearing his only suit instead of his biking gear.  It’s nothing like the suits the people around him are wearing; the jacket doesn’t lie quite right on his shoulders and perhaps the pants are a tad too long, but Mike has never been one to place importance on labels.  Clothes are clothes, and Mike is more than okay with wearing off-the-rack.  He doesn’t have money, and he makes do with what he does have.  He isn’t ashamed of that.

       That doesn’t stop him from pulling self-consciously on the fraying cuffs of his jacket or wishing he had spent even a little bit of time polishing his shoes earlier that morning.

       “You keep picking at that, Delivery Boy, and you’ll pull that sorry excuse for a suit to shreds,” Donna, Harvey’s assistant warns even as Mike approaches her desk.  Though she’s sitting behind a desk, Donna Paulsen is every bit the guardian of the gate into Harvey’s office.  And while Mike is sure she would much rather see herself at a spectacularly beautiful knight in Prada armor, he sees her more as Cerberus, the three-headed dog that guards Hades.

       “Lovely to see you, too, Ms. Paulsen,” Mike says.

       “No, no,” Donna says, wagging a finger.  “Just Donna.  It’s like a name and a title all in one.”

       “Donna,” Mike concedes, nodding.  He glances over through the glass and into Harvey’s apartment.  He can see the lawyer sitting behind his desk, his chair facing out toward the skyline of Manhattan.

       “So,” Donna says, once she and Mike are on the same page.  “What have you got for us today?   You’re a little overdressed to be delivering paperwork.”

       “Actually, I was wondering if you would do me a favor and squeeze me in for a quick meeting with the boss-man.”

       A perfectly sculpted eyebrow floats toward the ceiling.

       “What, you think I’m going to let a delivery boy just waltz into the office of New York’s best closer simply because he puts on a shabby suit?”

       Mike smiles and pulls out his secret weapon.  He sets the Styrofoam cup on Donna’s desk, watching as she zeroes in on it.

       “Is that—“

       “It is,” Mike replies.

       “How did you—“

       Mike leans over the edge of her desk, never gladder that old Harold Gunderson from Harvard was in Pearson Hardman’s associate bullpen.  “Is it important how I know, or that I know?”

       Donna’s attention snaps back up to Mike, her eyes narrowing.  Mike holds the gaze, willing himself not to break.  He already has the feeling that stronger men than he have fallen.  Finally, Donna grabs the coffee and takes a sip.  She gives Mike one more smile before turning to her desk phone.

       “Harvey, you’ve got a walk-in,” she says, pressing the intercom button.  “Go ahead, Delivery Boy.”

       From the outside and through its glass doors, Harvey’s office could have come from an advertisement in an IKEA catalogue.  All of the furniture matches in a cold and sleek way, all glass, chrome, and black leather, giving the appearance of a complete space without the personal touches of the person actually using said space.  It is only after Mike steps through the door—knocking first, of course—that he sees any reflection of Harvey in the room.

       Basketballs and baseballs line the window sill like trophies, each with the messy black scrawl of the athlete who signed them.  Gifts from clients, Mike assumes, and the notion of being the friend of a friend for any one of those men makes the inner-child in Mike giggle with excitement.  Inspiring just as much anticipation is the floor-to-ceiling shelving unit that holds more vinyl records than Mike has seen outside of an actual store.  While he is no connoisseur of classic records, the sight brings to mind Saturdays spent with his grandmother sorting through dusty boxes at garage sales.

       The jewel of Harvey’s office, however, is the almost one-hundred-and-eighty degree view of Manhattan.  He’s lived in New York his entire life, but never has Mike seen the city from this position.  Even the view from the top of the Empire State Building pales in comparison to this; that high up the view is impersonal, meant to fill tourist with awe at the sheer magnitude of the city.  Harvey’s view allows for a detached yet comfortable vantage point where one can still appreciate the finer details of Manhattan.

       “Make sure to pick up your jaw before you trip over it,” Harvey says.  He closes his laptop and fold his hands on top of it.  “What brings New York’s finest suicide cyclist to Pearson Hardman?”

       Mike shakes himself free of the hold of the skyline and turns to face Harvey.

       “I need this to stay between us.”

       They both look to Harvey’s desk phone and then out through the wall to Donna’s desk.  Having been caught, she spins around in her chair and turns off her side of the intercom.

       “Are you sure she turned it off?”  Mike asks.

       “Donna, the Geller file that you lost back in the DA’s office?  I shredded it.”

       There’s no reaction from his secretary, so they turn back to face each other.

       “I told you before that I don’t want any handouts,” Mike says, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.  He actually twists his hands together.  It’s this level of nervous fidgeting that catches Harvey’s attention.  He sets the folder aside, sitting straighter in his chair.  “And that’s still the case, but…”

       “Something’s changed,” Harvey says.  He stands from his chair and buttons his jacket.

       Mike nods.  He swallows, rubbing a hand through his short hair.

       “My grandmother has health problems,” Mike begins.  “After her last fall, her visiting nurse suggested that we put her in an assisted living facility so someone could keep an eye on her.  Things were going pretty well but her condition changed, and now she needs an upgrade in care.”

       “And the home is looking at you to foot the bill.”

       “You probably make twenty five thousand dollars in one conversation with your clients,” Mike says, “but it’d take me almost a year to make that much money even if I saved everything I had.  The home needs it by next week.”

       “I see.”

       “I know it’s a lot to ask,” Mike says hurriedly, “and I realize that I’m taking advantage, but…  My Grammy raised me.  She took me in even when she didn’t have to, and now I have to do anything I can to help her.  Even if it means making a complete asshole of myself by groveling.”

       Harvey considers Mike, considers the ill-fitting yet neat suit he wears.  Twenty five thousand dollars is a lot of money, even though Harvey has long since stopped paying attention to his monthly bank statement.  He knows that someone like Mike would rather do anything else than ask for that kind of money with no real hope of paying it back, and the fact that Mike is standing here in Harvey’s office is enough to make Harvey seriously consider the request.  Anyone else and he would think they were just looking to hitch their wagons to Harvey’s star.

       With Mike, however…

       Before Harvey can answer, there’s a knock on the door.

       A suit pokes his head in, shooting Mike a dirty look before turning to Harvey.

       “Excuse me, Mr. Specter, but I was hoping—“

       “Forgive me, Mike, but I seem to have had a stroke,” Harvey says, “because I swear I just hallucinated an associate who holds so little value over their own life that they thought it would acceptable to barge into a senior partner’s office while he is in a meeting.”

       The associate in question opens his mouth to speak, but Harvey shakes his head and holds his hand up.

       “No excuses,” he says.  “Tell me what's so important that you felt the need to interrupt, George.”

       “It's Gregory, sir," the associate says. 

     "Hm, well that's a lot, doesn't it?' 

     "Yes, sir," Not-George mumbles. "I’m having trouble the stock option back-dating with the Smith files."

       “Although back-dating options is legal, violations arise related to disclosures under IRC Section 409-A,” Mike recites.  “Unless you consider Sarbanes-Oxley.”

       Harvey’s office falls silent.  Both he and Gregory stare at Mike, neither quite believing what just came out of the delivery boy’s mouth.  Mike, realizing what he’s done, blushes red and looks down at his toes.

       The associate sneers.  “The statute of limitations renders Sarbanes-Oxley moot post-2007. Not that I would expect a delivery boy wearing a suit he found in a dumpster behind Goodwill to know that.”

       “Not if you can find actions to cover up the violations as establish by the Sixth Circuit, May 2008.”

       Durant opens his mouth to respond, but Harvey holds up a hand to stop him.

       “How did you know that?” Harvey asks.

       “I learned it,” Mike says, looking up from the floor.  He ignores Durant and looks directly at Harvey.  “When I was at Harvard Law.”

       “You got into Harvard Law?” Gregory scoffs.

       Mike shrugs.  “What, like it’s hard?”

       Harvey spins on his heel, grabbing the back of Gregory's suit jacket and all but throws him bodily from his office.  “You, out!”

       He points to Donna and jerks a thumb back over his shoulder.  “You, in!”

       Donna closes the door behind her and follows Harvey over to stand near Mile

       “When did you graduate?”

       “I didn’t,” Mike says.  “I had to take a leave of absence when Malcolm was born, and I just wasn’t able to go back.”

       “How many years were you there?”

       “Two.”

       Harvey looks at Donna who only lifts her shoulders, the palms of her hands facing the ceiling.

       “Hold that thought, Ms. Woods.”

       

       Only offering a cursory knock before entering, Harvey strides into Jessica’s office and stops in front of her desk.

       “Cancel the Chilton interviews tomorrow,” he says.

       Jessica doesn’t even look up from the file she’s reading.  “And why on Earth would I do that?”

       “You’ll do it because our new associate is standing in my office as we speak.”

       She looks up from the file, eyes narrowing.  Tilting her head to the side, considering him like a cat does prey, Jessica leans back in her chair.  “Alright.  I’ll bite.”

       “His name is Michael Ross, and he’s smarter than any of those other Harvard douchebags you would make me sit through tomorrow.”

       “We don’t hire off the street, Harvey.”

       “What if I told you he went to Harvard?”

       “Then I would ask about the catch.”

       Lesser men than Harvey would have to steel themselves.  He, of course, doesn’t miss a beat.

       “He never actually graduated.”

       “Harvey—“

       “He took a leave of absence, and due to extenuating circumstances he couldn’t finish,” Harvey says.  “But he has completed two years at Harvard Law.  If he works for us for three more and we get a Harvard professor to sign off on it, we’ll have ourselves a Harvard-educated lawyer with only a partial amount of douchebaggery.”

       “What makes you think I’d agree to this?” Jessica asks.  As soon as she says it, Harvey knows that he’s got her.  They’ve known each other a long time, and Harvey has never once bullied Jessica into anything.  Where usually she would shut him down immediately, asking questions means that she's taking the bait.

       “With enough time and effort, he’ll be almost as good as I am,” Harvey says, putting his hands on the edge of her desk.

       “I’ve already got one pain in the ass.  Why would I need another?”

       “This kid’s a genius, Jessica, a walking law library.  All we have to do is train him up a bit, and he’ll be raking in the money for this firm.”

       Jessica stands up and crosses to the window.  Harvey watches her back, knowing he’s won.  Jessica only shows her back to him when she needs to hide her amusement.

       “All right,” she says, turning away from the glass.  “We’ll give the kid a shot.”

       “Great.”

       “But,” Jessica says, raising a finger in the air, “his signing bonus comes out of your pocket.”

       “Done.”

       “And you’ve got to do something for me.”  Jessica turns to a stack of files and plucks one from the middle.  “Pro bono.”

       “Anything but that,” Harvey insists.  He steps back toward the door.

       “Do it or the kid walks.”

       Begrudgingly, Harvey reaches out and takes the file.  “Fine.”

       “No pawning it off, either,” Jessica adds.  “Use it to get the kid running, but you better be there every step of the way.”

       Harvey nods and turns to leave.

       “Oh, and Harvey?” Jessica calls as she reclaims her seat.  “If the new puppy makes a mess on the carpet, he won’t be the only one in the dog house.”

       

       

       Blowing back into his office, Harvey strides around his desk to sit in his chair.   Mike, who has been sitting on the arm of Harvey’s couch, jumps to his feet.

       “I’m not going to give you the money--”

       Mike visibly deflates, his expression falling.

       “--but what I will give you is a job.”

       Mike blinks.  Once.  Twice.

       “A what?”

       “A job.”  Harvey undoes the button of his jacket and returns to his chair.  Crossing his left ankle over his right knee, he turns toward his laptop and opens his email.  Behind Mike, Donna spins around in her chair and stares at him with raised eyebrows.  I hope you know what you’re doing.

       “How--why?” Mike asks.  He falls into one of the chairs on the other side of Harvey’s desk.

       Harvey shoots off a quick email instructing Donna to get the paperwork started.  “My boss is requiring me to hire an associate.  The interviews she set up are going to be a complete and utter waste of my time, but hiring you will solve everything.”

       “I don’t have a law degree,” Mike says.

       “Let me worry about that,” Harvey says.  “You start a week from Monday.  Here’s what you’re going to do:  Give your two weeks or whatever bike messengers give. It doesn’t matter what you tell them, just tell them you’re quitting.  Second, buy some nicer suits.  People make assumptions based on the way we look.  It’s shallow, but true.”

       Mike can’t quite process what’s happening.  Even his mind seems to have trouble wrapping itself around the fact that he came in to ask for a loan but is leaving with a job.  A job he previously thought he’d never be able to achieve.

       “I don’t understand.”

       “You need money, I need an associate,” Harvey says.  “You ever hear the phrase ‘teach a man to fish?’  Mostly bullshit, but I think it applies.”

       Donna appears again, handing Harvey a freshly printed piece of paper.

       “You’re getting the twenty five thousand as a signing bonus,” Harvey says.  “If you work hard, this job is going to make you insanely wealthy.  It’s hard work, but if you do the work you’ll never have to worry about money again.”

       He slides the paper across the table.  “Sign it, Mike and you’ll be back on the track you wanted to be on from the beginning.”

       If he takes this job, Mike would never have to worry about not being able to provide for Grammy or Malcolm again.  He’d be able to move her to a home that would take care of her, one that was worthy of the woman who took him in when nobody else would.  He would be able to provide the kind of life that he wanted for Malcolm.  He’d never have to go without just so his son wouldn’t have to.  Hell, he could finally move them out of their shoebox of an apartment and into a place where Malcolm could actually have an entire bedroom to himself.

       With the feeling that he is standing on the edge of something very dangerous yet incredibly exciting, Mike accepts the fountain pen Donna offers him and signs on the dotted line.

  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike begins his first week at Pearson Hardman, and Mal has trouble waking up in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to skyenapped for being a sounding board and beta.

Malcolm Ross is not a morning person.

Mike has known his bouncy baby boy hates being woken up any earlier than strictly necessary. If Mal had his way, he wouldn’t be dragged from bed until well after nine o’ clock in the morning. Mike, who has always had to work at least two jobs at a time in order to make ends meet, tries to let his son sleep for as long as he can before he has to wake up. Much to Mal’s dissatisfaction, that isn’t very late at all.

It isn’t that he’s fussy when he wakes up. Quite the opposite in fact. There have been mornings when Mike will not hear Mal utter a single word until hours after he’s dragged from bed, almost like Mal is protesting the earliness of the hour by not speaking until he deems it acceptable. His unresponsiveness is something Mike has gotten used to, and getting Mal up and ready for the day is more like dressing a life size doll than dressing his son.

Mike’s first day at Pearson Hardman is no exception.

As he rushes around their small Brooklyn apartment, Mike keeps a watchful eye on his son who is sitting at the kitchen table, still wearing his shark pajamas.

“You doing okay, buddy?” he asks as he walks into the kitchen. He tightens his tie around his neck and reaches for his coffee mug.

Mal grunts, staring blearily at his bowl of Cheerios. He’s only taken one or two bites of cereal, and the rest is slowly congealing into a soggy mess in the bowl. Mal will complain about being hungry about an hour or so after he’s been dropped off at the babysitter’s so Mike makes a note to pack a bag of dry Cheerios in the diaper bag. He knows he’s enforcing bad habits letting Mal decide when he eats, but he’s usually in such a hurry he can’t afford to argue with a sullen and completely tacit toddler.

“Mrs. Carlisle says she’s going to be taking you to the park later this morning,” Mike tries, setting the mug down. “That’s going to be fun. Do you want to take your bucket and shovel so you can play in the sand?”

Another grunt.

Mike sighs and, leaving his son to his sodden lump of a breakfast, heads back to the bedroom area to finish getting ready. His messenger bag is sitting on the foot of the bed, ready to be taken to work. He’s cleaned out all of the random stuff he’s accumulated as a bike messenger, but he’s not entirely sure what he needs to put in their place.  
So far, he has a brand new stack of yellow legal pads and his old, battered copy of the BARBRI legal handbook. A firm as prestigious as Pearson Hardman is sure to have an outstanding law library, but the worn cover and dog-eared pages of his personal copy give him a sense of security he didn’t know he needed.

Leaving the messenger bag for when he leaves, he grabs Mal’s diaper bag off the chair and fills it with the things Leslie is going to need to watch Mal for the day. Pull-ups, extra pants and shirts in case of an emergency costume change, a sandwich bag of Cheerios. He even stuffs in the shovel and pail; despite his apathy, Mal will want it when he sees the sandbox at the park.

Back in the main living area, Mal has slumped forward, forehead against the aged wood of the table.

“Hey, no, sir!” Mike calls. “No sleeping at the table!”

With a low whine, Mal sits up, raising his torso up like a zombie. He turns to glare at Mike, a mushy Cheerio mashed against his cheek.

“We go through this every morning, Malcolm,” Mike says, fighting not to smile. He drops the messenger bag and diaper bag on the couch. “And every morning, it’s like pulling teeth, I swear…”

He pours Mal’s breakfast into the trash and puts the bowl in the sink. Reaching down, he grabs Mal under his armpits and hauls him up.

“Ugh, you’re heavy,” Mike says, pretending to struggle under the weight of a stubborn three year old. “What was really in that cereal box, rocks?”

And there it is, a small, quiet giggle against his neck. 

“No rocks,” Mal murmurs, nuzzling into Mike’s throat.

“Ah, there he is.” Mike squeezes him gently. “My big man. Finally decided to wake up properly. Let’s say we get dressed, hm?”

Mal allows Mike to dress him, first stripping his sharky pajamas and then pulling a fresh shirt over his head. Blonde tufts of hair spring up as Mal’s head pops through the neck hole.

“About time for a haircut,” Mike mutters, reaching for a pair of denim overalls. He tugs them on over his son’s legs, Mal offering only the barest of assistance, and then buckles the straps over his shoulders. “You ready to go, kiddo?”

After helping Mal into his shoes, Mike grabs the messenger bag and diaper bag, throwing them over his shoulder and takes Mal’s hand.

“Let’s go, buddy,” he says, locking the apartment door behind him.

 

*

 

The first hiccup in Harvey’s day happens as soon as he steps into his office that morning.

“So, tell me the deal with the delivery boy.”

The desk chair spins around, and Donna regards him with raised eyebrows.

“Good morning to you, Donna,” Harvey says. He’s carrying his briefcase in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. “You do realize your desk is outside, don’t you?”

“You do realize people don’t usually hire their bike messenger to be their associate, don’t you?”

Harvey jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “Out of the chair.”

Donna acquiesces but only enough to trade the chair for the corner of his desk.

“Does he have something on you?” she asks, leaning in as if they are about to share some great secret. “Did you accidently give him a file of risqué photographs instead of a case file to deliver? Is he blackmailing you to get this job?”

“Donna, he went to Harvard Law,” Harvey replies, booting up his laptop. “He’s a lawyer, or will be at any rate, so there’s nothing to tell.”

And like a dog with a bone—not that Harvey would ever let her know that he once spent an entire afternoon looking through the American Kennel Association’s website and three different ‘Which Breed Are You?’ quizzes to determine which kind of dog she would be—Donna refuses to let it go.

“But why Mike, Harvey? There were plenty of candidates set to be interviewed. All of which actually graduated from Harvard.”

He could tell her, he supposes, that he decided to hire Mike because he saw something in the young man that reminded him of himself. That Mike is what Harvey had been himself not all that long ago: young, too smart for his own good and way too smart to be wasting his life away slugging through meaningless shit in some mailroom somewhere. He could say that part of him wanted to pay it forward, to be the Jessica to someone else’s Harvey. He could say all of those things, but it means revealing more of his hand than he would have liked. After all, Harvey Specter has a reputation to uphold, and it certainly isn’t one of a man who likes to raise lowly delivery boys and drop them onto the fiftieth floor.

“Maybe I wanted the challenge,” he says instead, opening up his email application. “Maybe I want to see what I could make out of the rabble Harvard chewed up and spit back out. Did you ever think of that?”

Donna looks him square in the eye. “Don’t pretend for a second that I believe your bullshit.”

Of course not. She wouldn’t be Donna if she did.

“Alright, fine,” she says after a long moment passes between them without anything more being said. “I’ll let you have your bootleg copy of an associate. Just don’t come crying to me when all of your couriered mail arrives late because you poached the best biker in the city.”

Despite the levity with which she speaks, Harvey knows that Donna understands the real reason he hired Mike. That he couldn’t let someone with such obvious potential deliver mail for the rest of his life. To her immense credit, she doesn’t mention it, and Harvey once again thanks any and all deities listening for her discretion.

“Thank you,” he says, eyes flicking up away from his computer screen. “Any messages?”

And like that, they’re back to work.

“Ted Phillips called,” Donna says, all business. “He’ll be in town late next week and wants to meet for dinner.”

“Schedule it,” Harvey says.

“Already in your calendar,” Donna replies. She starts for the exit but stops mid-way through the doorway. “Oh, and Jessica wants to see you in her office.”

“When?”

Tossing a smirk over her shoulder, Donna sits down at her desk. “Ten minutes ago.”

 

*

The offices of Pearson Hardman are much more intimidating now that Mike actually works there. He’s not just some bike messenger now, he’s an actual lawyer, and somehow that knowledge makes him feel ten times heavier as he exits the elevator onto the fiftieth floor.

Everyone seems to be in a hurry. They all rush around in their suits and with their briefcases, and Mike is glad that for once, his own suit was actually tailored to him rather than being off the rack. His messenger bag looks rough compared to the sleek, stylish briefcases of the other lawyers, and he self-consciously hugs it closer to his body as he walks behind the paralegal who has been assigned to give him his orientation.

Rachel Zane is beautiful and obviously thinks she’s too smart to be just a paralegal. Mike follows quietly as she leads him through the office pointing out partners’ offices and conferences, rattling off the different departments and their respective floors. He doesn’t bother with the notepad and pen she had given him, choosing instead to listen passively while he takes in his surroundings.

Being led through the halls of an actual law firm, a law firm that he now works for, is something he never thought he would ever see. It feels like a trick somehow, some cosmic joke the world is playing on him, and Mike half expects someone to jump out from behind a corner and yell ‘Surprise! You’re not really a lawyer, now get the hell out.’

To his immense satisfaction, that moment never comes.

His cubicle is just that: three tiny walls surrounding a tiny desk and chair, but none of that discourages Mike at all. It’s his cubicle, his workspace, and he’ll be practicing actual, honest-to-God law at it, so it might as well be Obama’s desk in the White House as excited as he is to see it.

“Who let this piece of shit in here?”

Mike and Rachel both turn to face another associate coming down the aisle between the cubicles. Rachel looks offended, and she opens her mouth to retort, but Mike steps forward.

“The same people who let you in, you dumb bastard,” Mike spits. They glare at each other for a long moment, and Rachel is just about to call out for help when both men yell and catch one another up in a bear hug.

“Oh, my god, Kyle! I had no idea you worked here.”

“Yeah, for a while now.” Durant steps back, holding Mike at arm’s length. “But look at you! Finally made it to the other side of Harvard Law!”

“Took the long way around, but yeah, I made it,” Mike replies.

“You two…know each other?” Rachel asks, looking between them.

“Kyle and I were in the same class at Harvard,” Mike explains, throwing a friendly arm over Kyle’s neck.

“Mikey, here, was the only worthy opponent in the whole damn place,” Kyle added. “Nobody could keep up with the Walking, Talking Law Library.”

“Someone has to be second in the class,” Mike chuckled.

“That is until you dropped out to pursue a higher calling.”

Rachel’s eyebrow floats up. “A higher calling than being a lawyer?”

Mike ducks his head, blushing, but Kyle will have none of it.

“Mike’s got one of the toughest jobs in the world, raising a kid by himself. Sure as hell don’t envy him.”

“You have a child?” Rachel asks.

“A son,” Mike explains. “His name is Malcolm.”

Kyle turns to Mike. “Oh, my god, he’s gotta be so big by now.”

“I had to teach him how to shave just last week.”

The men share another laugh.

“Well, I’m going to get back to work,” Rachel says, nodding at Mike and Kyle. “I suggest you both do the same.”

“Thanks for the tour,” Mike calls after as they both watch her leave the bullpen.

“I gotta go, too, man,” Kyle says, clapping Mike on the shoulder. “We should meet up after work sometime, catch up.”

“Yeah, that’d be great,” Mike agrees.

Kyle moves off to his own desk, and Mike turns to his. He reaches out, pressing a hand against the smooth surface of his desk. Just a brief moment to take it in, he knows, because somewhere, Harvey is expecting him to actually show up and be his associate, so after taking a deep, slow breath, Mike turns on his heel and heads off to find Harvey.

*

“You’re late,” Harvey says after Mike knocks on his office door. Nonetheless, he waves the younger man inside.

“Sorry about that,” Mike replies. “Having a stubborn three year old and a stack of human resources as tall as said three year old tends to slow things down.”

“Do they now.” Harvey shuts his laptop and looks at Mike. The kid sure does clean up when he needs to. His hair is cut and his five o’clock is shadow is, well…contained. At  
least the suit is new. It’s still one of the cheaper items from Rene’s showroom, but Harvey can appreciate that Mike at least attempted to follow his instructions. “What’s with  
the tie?”

“What about it?” Mike asks, looking down at his own chest. “I bought it especially for today.”

“It’s too thin,” Harvey answers. “People will never take you seriously when you insist on wearing hipster shit like that.”

“Mal picked it out. He wanted to me wear it on my first day of work.” Mike pinches the end of the tie between his fingers. “It isn’t appropriate, I’ll pick something else up on my way home.”

“It’s fine,” Harvey says. “Just nothing thinner than that.”

Mike nods, and a silence just this side of uncomfortable settles over them.

“How’s your grandmother settling in?” Harvey asks, deciding that small-talk is better than no talk. They’ve got a bit of time before they really need to start working, so he can take a moment or two to ease the kid in before throwing him in the deep end head first. “I assume they’ve moved her into her new home?”

Mike nods. “She’s good. Great, even. The private care facility is much nicer than where she was before, and the people there seem to like her already.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

And then silence settles back, and they are left to watch each other, waiting for the other to speak first.

“Enough chit-chat,” Harvey sighs after an appropriate amount of awkwardness passes between them. He grabs up a files and tosses it in Mike’s lap. “Your first case.”

“Awesome, what is it?” Mike asks. He flicks the folder open and begins to scan the page, eyes flying as he reads.

“Pro bono,” Harvey replies. “Sexual harassment. I’m supposed to watch over your shoulder and make sure you don’t blow it.”

“Got it. You can’t handle it, I’ll knock it out of the park.”

“Easy Clarence Thomas,” Harvey chides. “Just go meet the client.”

 

*

 

Mike feels good after his meeting with Nancy. He feels great, actually, considering it’s his first meeting with a client ever. Sure, she called him a kid before he even sat down, but Mike chooses to believe that his youthful appearance endears him to those nurturing types and makes others underestimate him. Bottom line, he’s totally off to a good start on this whole lawyer thing. 

Nancy is the nicest woman, and it makes his gut clench knowing that someone has tried to take advantage of her. Maybe it’s the kinship of single parents, but Mike is more than ready to help Harvey take this guy down and get back what is rightfully Nancy’s.

“Give me an update,” Harvey says later that afternoon.

They’re outside Pearson Hardman, standing line at the very hotdog cart Mike had almost run Harvey over in front of. Harvey is already scarfing down his first dog by the time Mike is getting his change back from the vendor.

“Oh, well, she’s a nice woman,” Mike says, hurrying to catch up. “It’s a real shame what happened to her.”

“About the case, not the client. I don’t get emotionally attached to the clients.”

“This woman had her life ripped apart and you don’t even care?”

“I’m not about caring,” Harvey insists. “I’m about winning.”

Which is a lie, but Mike doesn’t need to know that. If Harvey really never cared about anyone, he never would have paid so Mike could take Mal to the zoo on his birthday, and he certainly would have never hired him for a job he’s only partly qualified for. No, better for Mike to believe Harvey as a machine with no feelings than hiding a bleeding heart.

They pass by where Mike has chained his biked, and he bends down to tug on the chain.

“What are you doing, don’t touch that!”

“I’m checking my lock” Mike replies.

“You rode your bike to work?” Harvey asks incredulously. “How do you manage to lug a three year old around the city on that thing?”

“I don’t ride the bike when I’ve got Mal,” Mike says. They push through the front doors and cross the lobby. “I take a taxi or ride the subway. You ever try to navigate a diaper bag and stroller through public transit? It’s a nightmare.”

Harvey throws his trash away in the bin and calls for the elevator.

“Defense sent over the investigation files as a courtesy.”

“No, they didn’t. Nobody does anything as a courtesy. They sent over those files because that’s where they want you to look. Listen, being a lawyer is a lot like being a doctor.”

“Yeah, yeah, push until it hurts” Mike says. The elevator doors slide open. “I went to law school, too, remember?”

“Not all of it,” Harvey reminds him. “So maybe you listen when I speak once in a while when I’m trying to impart some knowledge. Forget about impeaching the investigation. It won’t lead anywhere. No employee is going to testify against their own CEO.”

“That’s what I thought,” Mike says. “If the guy’s done it once, he’s done it before, so I’m going to subpoena all of the personnel files of every woman who’s ever left the company under this guy’s tenure.”

Harvey looks at him and gives him a surprised nod. “What do you know, you went to law school after all.”

“Don’t take all day with that subpoena,” Harvey says as they exit the elevator.

“You got something for me to do?”

“No, but you’ve got a date.”

Mike looks at Harvey with a confused frown. “Sorry, I don’t…”

“You got a babysitter you can call to watch Malcolm?” Harvey asks.

“I…yeah, but Harvey—“

“Good, because you’re taking the managing partner out to dinner tonight. Now, get to work.”

 

*

 

If Harvey is a great white shark, Jessica Pearson is an even bigger one. The kind that was as big as a city bus and snacked on Tyrannosaurus rex millions of years ago. Sitting across from her in an upscale restaurant, Mike might as well be floating in the middle of the open ocean covered in pig’s blood.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. Ross,” she says after the waiter finishes pouring their wine. Mike has never been much of a wine guy; he will always opt for a beer over most anything. He figures, though, that if the Managing Partner that just hired him without a law degree wants wine, he can step out of his comfort zone just this once. “It’s not every day someone impresses Harvey.”

Despite himself, Mike blushes, even at such indirect praise. “Something tells me, though, that Harvey’s not the partner I need to impress.”

“That’s perceptive of you,” Jessica smiles. She sips from her glass before setting down at her side. “So, tell me, Mr. Ross: how did you manage to get Harvey to hire you?”

“I was three when I realized I wasn’t like the other kids,” Mike begins, circling the rim of his glass with his finger. “When school started, it was like a joke: I didn’t take notes, I never studied. Every year, people would tell me, ‘next year, you won’t get away with it.’ I kept waiting for it to get harder, but it just never did.”

“And Harvard?”

“I knew it would end,” Mike replies. “It had to. I thought: Yeah, I’d finally found a place where I’d be, uh, exposed. But it turns out that even at the mighty Harvard Law--”

“You weren’t the same as the other kids.” Jessica raises her wine glass again.

“I know it sounds cocky.”

“Not to me,” she says. She looks squarely at Mike. “The fact is you don’t think of yourself as smart. You’ve always had your mind; it just is what it is.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what it is.” Mike sits forward in his seat just a hair. I don’t think of myself as smart. I just think of everybody else as…”

“Idiots,” Jessica supplies.

Mike smirks. “Not smart.”

“That’s what I meant to say.”

They each take a moment for themselves. Mike sips wine and Jessica rubs her hands together, contemplating her next question.

“Why the Law?”

“That’s kind of personal.”

“Isn’t that why we’re here?”

Mike considers for a moment. It’s not a question anyone hasn't asked him before, but it’s tied up with a lot of things he tends to keep close to the chest. Sometimes that amount of personal information makes people uncomfortable. Still, when your boss’s boss asks you a question…

He takes a deep breath, steeling himself.

“When I was eleven, my parents were on their way home from dinner, and they were involved in a really horrible accident, and they… My grandmother took me in, and it wasn’t until I was much older that I realized we had a case. See, it turns out this restaurant kept feeding this Mr. Fenton drinks, long after they knew--- It didn’t matter. I just felt so helpless, and I didn’t want to feel that way. Ever.”

“So what happened?” Jessica asks.

That’s even more personal, but Mike figures he might as well plow through.

“There’s not much to say,” Mike says. He shrugs with as much nonchalance as he can muster. “Boy meets girl. Boy and girl get pregnant. Girl walks out."

“She was a law student as well?”

Mike nods. “A year ahead of me, yeah. She stuck around long enough to graduate, but after that… I haven’t seen her since.”

"She didn't want to be a mother?"

“Assistant District Attorneys with infants don’t make Chief Prosecutor," Mike says. “I’ve checked up on her once or twice. She’s got a job with the DA’s office, but that’s as much as I know. I had to drop out to raise my son.”

Jessica nods, accepting his succinct response for what it is. She wipes her mouth with her napkin and sets it neatly in front of her.

“I’ve enjoyed this, Mr. Ross,” she says. “Harvey was right to be impressed.”

“Thank you, Ms. Pearson.”

“But if I’m to allow this situation to proceed then everything from this point out must be by the book. If you put a toe out of line, I will fire you before you can take another step. Do we understand each other?”

Mike, startled at the sudden change in tone, nods. “Y-yes, ma’am. I understand.”

“Good.” Like a flipped switch, Jessica is smiling again. Or baring her teeth. Either or. “I hope you brought your checkbook. This is on you.”

He stands politely as she gives him a nod before turning on one very expensive heel and leaving.

Mike lets out the breath he’s been holding since they sat down hours earlier and falls* back into his seat. Pulling his wallet from the breast pocket of his suit, he slips out the black credit card Harvey had lent him for the night and folds it into the receipt folder.

 

*

 

By the end of the week, Mike’s mood is on an all-time high when his first case turns into his first win.

It’s just a sexual harassment case, certainly nothing Harvey would consider life changing, but for Mike and more importantly Nancy this case is nothing but life-changing. Harvey keeps a watchful eye in the background as Mike slaps indictment after indictment in front of opposing counsel, eyes locked with the slimeball* who thinks he can just screw with people’s lives like he owns them. Getting to lay down the hammer, even if Harvey is really the one swinging, is something that Mike will relish for a long time after.

“Dude, that was awesome!” he exclaims as they come out onto the courthouse steps. The sky is bright and blue, and the whole day just seems to reflect Mike’s mood. “I was all, ‘you’re going to jail’ and you were all, ‘my friend is the US Attorney, look at these selfies we took at his bachelor party.’ Awesome.”

“The US Attorney and I have never taken selfies in our lives,” Harvey dismisses with a sniff, but the slight curve in the corner of his mouth belies his amusement. “Anyway, don’t get too cocky, kid. This was your first case, and I did all of the heavy lifting.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it,” Mike scoffs, but he’s smiling too. “I won this case for us, and I did by doing what? Oh, that’s right. I cared.”

Harvey tips his head to the side, raising his arm to flag down a cab. “You know, I was going to congratulate you on your first win, but I think this clumsy attempt at gloating has made me reconsider.”

“What, I can’t gloat? You gloat.”

“I can pull it off,” Harvey says. “You on the other hand…”

“Whatever,” Mike replies, choosing to not let Harvey ruin his afternoon. “I won, and that’s what matters.”

Harvey doesn’t comment on that—either he agrees with Mike or he had decided to ignore Mike for the trip back to the office. A taxi rolls up to the curb, even though he doesn’t have to, Mike reaches out to open the door.

Harvey slides into the back seat but stops Mike from following him in.

“Harvey, wha—“

“You just won your first case,” Harvey says, closing the door and speaking through the open window. “Take the afternoon off. The paperwork can wait.”

“You’re serious?”

“Of course not,” Harvey says, rolling his eyes. “Get back to the office and make sure everything’s squared away.”

“What about you?” Mike ask.

“Didn’t you hear?” Harvey asks with a smirk. “I just won a big case. I’m going to take the afternoon off.”

With that, Harvey leans forward to give the taxi driver an address, and the car pulls away from the curb, leaving Mike to watch him go.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both Mike and Malcolm push the boundaries, and Harvey begins to realize he may in over his head.

A League of His Own 3/?

Leslie Carlisle has the flu, so naturally, Mike is screwed. He doesn’t have many other friends that he trusts enough to leave his son with for the day, and his Grammy is in no condition to keep up with a three year old. He has only has one option, and he hopes to high heaven that it won’t come back to bite him in the ass.

Mal is full of questions as Mike carries him through the lobby of the Pearson Hardman building. Who’s that? Do you know him? What’s her name? Where are we going? It doesn’t bode well for Mike who hopes that they’ll be able to get through the day without anyone noticing that Mike is carrying an extra thirty pounds of Ross around a law firm. It’s still early enough that the office should be sparsely populated, and if he’s lucky Mike can barricade himself in the file room for the rest of the day.

And because his life is what it is, Mike’s luck runs out.

“Oh, my god, I could just eat him up.”

Donna’s heel click loudly on the marble floor as she makes a beeline for Mike. Seeing her, Mal buries his face in the space where Mike’s shoulder meets his neck.

“Good morning, Donna,” Mike greets, pressing the call button for the elevator five times. “You look lovely this morning.”

“Don’t even try it, Ross.” She wiggles her fingers at Mal. “Hello there, handsome. My name’s Donna.”

Mal peeks out, one bright, blue eye peering up at her before he buries his face again in Mike’s neck.

“He’s a shy one,” Donna laughs. “Shy, but cute.”

“On a scale from one to ten, how much trouble am I in?” Mike asks. The elevator doors slide open, and he gestures with his free arm for her to board first.

“Mike, the scale doesn’t have enough numbers on it to describe the trouble you’re in. Harvey’s going to have a coronary, but maybe if he can catch a glimpse of those baby blues you’re carrying he’ll allow a reprieve.”

“Harvey hates kids, doesn’t he?” Mike asks nervously.

“I didn’t say that,” Donna reproaches. “But a kid in a law office will definitely throw off his groove.”

“And we don’t want that, do we?”

Rather than letting him hide in the file room, Donna directs him into Harvey’s office.

“Nobody will bother you here,” she reasons as Mike sets Mal down on the black leather couch. “Well, nobody who isn’t Jessica Pearson. You should be fine.”

“Thanks, Donna.”

“Don’t thank me yet. You still have to get this past Harvey.”

Which proves to be easier than Mike would have believed.

When he comes in nearly a half hour later, Harvey stands in the doorway with his hands on his hips.

“I can explain,” Mike says.

“Please, do,” Harvey says, eyebrow raised.

“My babysitter has the flu,” he says. “I don’t have anyone else to watch him, and I would never bring him here if I did.”

Harvey watches him, jaw muscles ticking.

“He breaks one record and he’s gone,” Harvey says, moving toward his desk.

“Absolutely,” Mike says. “You got it. I’ll make sure he doesn’t break anything as soon as I get back.”

“Get back?” Harvey asks, sitting down in his chair. “From where?”

“Associates meeting in the law library,” Mike replies. “Attendance mandatory, from the mouth of Jessica Pearson herself.”

“I’m not a babysitter,” Harvey growls.

“But if you were, you’d be the best in New York,” Mike grinned. “Seriously, as soon as the meeting’s done, I’ll run back here.”

He crouches down beside Harvey’s couch and taps his son on the shoulder.

“Malcolm, I’ve got to go to a meeting, now.”

“Can I come?”

Mike grins, but shakes his head. “Not this time, champ, but you get to stay here with Harvey, alright?”

Mal looks past Mike, assessing Harvey with a long, dubious glance.

“Look, you’ve got your crayons and your paper,” Mike says, pulling Mal’s things closer. “Miss Donna would love it if you drew her something.”

“Maybe,” Mal says slowly. He turns and points to the baseballs lining the window. “Can I play with one of those?”

Harvey is about to interject here, to tell Mike’s kid just how many things he’s allowed to touch in this office—that is to say, none—but Mike beats him to the punch.

“Nope,” he says, dropping the drawing pad into Mal’s lap. “The office is just like at home. No balls inside. Plus, those aren’t for playing. They’re for looking.”

“Looking?” Mal asks incredulously. “That’s weird.”

Mike chuckles. “You’re right. Harvey’s weird, isn’t he? But still, this is his office, so we have to follow his rules, don’t we?”

“Yes, Daddy.” Mal nods. “I’ll draw a picture.”

“Good boy,” Mike says. He lunges forward and presses a loud, smacking kiss against Mal’s forehead. The boy squeals and tries to twist away, but Mike holds on tightly. “Now, behave while I’m gone.”

He ruffles Mal’s hair and stands, looking back to Harvey.

Harvey, who has long since stopped pretending to work and is completely absorbed in watching the father and son interact on the other side of his office, sits up in his chair and flattens his tie against his chest.

“I’m sure Malcolm will be on his best behavior.”

“I wasn’t talking to him,” Mike laughs and then disappears out the door. At her desk, Donna doesn’t even pretend to hide her laughter.

Harvey glares after him. Really, he should have more of a problem with Mike just assuming that he can pawn his kid off on Harvey. Pearson Hardman is not a daycare. The people inhabiting these offices either are paid to be here or pay exorbitant amounts of money to be here themselves. Neither of which apply to one Malcolm Ross. Even Marcus’s kids have only been in Harvey’s office a grand total of one time, and they’re family. Leaving Malcolm with Harvey, expecting him to keep up with him and not even asking permission beforehand should bother Harvey. A lot.

It’s odd, however, that is doesn’t.

“I know a joke about lawyers,” Malcolm says, appearing at Harvey’s knee. He leans his slight weight against Harvey’s leg, completely irreverent of personal boundaries. Much like his father, Harvey thinks.

“I thought you were supposed to be drawing a picture for Miss Donna?”

“I will,” Malcolm says. “After I tell you my joke. It’s funny.”

“A joke, hm?” He looks down at Mike’s son. “I suppose I’ve got time for a joke.”

Malcom’s grin splits open, revealing tiny, square teeth. He rests his chin on his fists, elbows digging into the meat of Harvey’s thigh.

“What do lawyers wear to court?” he asks. Ignorance of boundaries isn’t the only thing this kid has inherited from Mike. Christ, his eyes are blue.

Harvey pretends to mull it over. He rolls his pen between his fingers, tapping the cap of it against his lower lip. Malcolm watches him avidly, bouncing on the balls of his feet with growing anticipation. His elbows dig into Harvey’s leg.

“I don’t know,” Harvey says. “What do lawyers wear to court?”

“Law suits!” Malcolm cries gleefully, dissolving into a fit of giggles. He covers his mouth with his hands, seemingly unable to contain the joy at having stumped Harvey.

“That’s very clever,” Harvey says. He leans to his left in order to look Mal in the eye. “Did you come up with that yourself?”

“My Grammy told me,” Mal says brightly. “She knows a lot of funny jokes.”

“Does she?”

Mal nods frantically. “They’re really funny. Do you know any jokes, Mr. Harvey?”

“About lawyers?” He does, but Harvey knows few of them are appropriate for a three year old either by their content or their complexity.

“Any kind,” Mal says with a shrug. He leans bodily against Harvey’s knee again, wrapping his arms around it. “Tell me one. Please?”

“Alright,” Harvey says. “Where does the president keep his armies?”

Mal taps a finger against his chin in a caricature of deep thinking. “I don’t know. Where?”

“In his sleevies.”

The boy’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, and the corners of his little mouth turn curl down. Smiling to himself, Harvey reaches out and taps him lightly above his right elbow and then tugs on his shirt sleeve. Realization dawns on Mal’s face, and once again, he erupts into giggles.

“That’s a good one,” he says. “I bet Daddy doesn’t know that.”

“You know, I bet he doesn’t.” Harvey leaves in even closer and in a conspiratorial whisper says, “Why don’t we tell him later and see if we can fool him.”

“Okay!” Mal exclaims, clapping his hands together. 

Mike doesn’t come back from his meeting until thirty minutes later, but when he does, he returns to find both Harvey and Mal hard at work. Harvey is slogging through the pile of files on his desk, and Mal, surrounded by a mess of paper, looks to be coloring pictures for everyone in the office.

Leaving his son to his own work, Mike sits down in one of the chairs in front of Harvey’s desk.

“I can’t believe we have to do a mock trial.”

Harvey doesn’t even glance up at him.

“How else are we supposed to know which associates can cut it in a courtroom?”

“Uh, I don’t know,” Mike says, “by actually letting us go to court? Why do we have to play these games, Harvey?”

“They’re not games,” Harvey retorts. “You may have impressed a couple paralegals here and there, but this is your trial by fire for most of the senior partners. They’ll be expecting you to be at your best, and you better damn well bring it, or else I may have to find another associate.”

“Alright,” Mike sighs. “Fine. Mock trial is a thing, I get it. Is there something I can help you with?”

“Since I have an actual legal problem, yes.” Harvey hands a couple files over the desk. “These are initial terms for the Debeque merger. I need you to go over them and make sure we’re air tight.”

“Debeque’s the hotel guy, right?” Mike flicks through the file’s contents, eyes flicking back and forth as he reads. “He’s got a hotel in nearly every corner of the world.”

“Which makes him desirable to the guy looking to merge with him,” Harvey says. “I’m headed over to one of his properties later this afternoon, so the sooner I get that file the sooner you can get to preparing for your mock trial.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Mike says, giving a mock salute. He stands up and heads back over to the couch.

“Who’d you say your opponent was?”

Mike crosses his ankle over his knee and begins reading. “Kyle Durant. Old buddy from Harvard.”

“Is that going to be a problem?”

“Nope,” Mike says, lips popping. “Kyle’s only lost against one attorney in his entire mock trial career, and you’re looking at him.”

“That’s what I like to hear, rookie,” Harvey says with a grin. “Now, onto other business. Do you own a tux?”

 

**

 

With Mal with the sitter and wearing a tuxedo that doesn’t sit quite right on his shoulders, Mike pushes through the glass doors and onto the rooftop patio. The lights of the Manhattan skyline shine bright against the night sky, creating an ethereal backdrop for Mike’s first hospital benefit.

The guests are all dressed to the nines. Mike should be used to being around such a high standard of party guests, but it appears that he hasn’t met that particular glass ceiling as of yet. The men are all wearing tuxedos, their wives and girlfriends in gowns, and Mike has to fight the feeling that he’s a fish out of water. This is his world now. He’s a part of it, and the faster he acclimates the faster he will feel at home.

Keeping to the edges of the party, Mike searches for a familiar face. He should have brought a date, though he doesn’t know who he could have invited. A steady job and financial stability hasn’t done much for his personal life like he thought it was. When he’s not at home he’s at work, and when he’s not at work he’s with Mal, and when he’s not with Mal he’s asleep, so there is little to no time to find someone to accompany to things like this.

Harvey Specter, of course, has no such problem.

Mike spots him from across the outdoor patio. Harvey looks like he’s the one the tuxedo was specifically designed for. He is all long lines and sharp angles, and Mike honestly cannot tell whether it’s the tuxedo or the man that looks better.

Both are eclipsed, however, by the gorgeous woman hanging off of Harvey’s elbow. She’s exactly the caliber of date Mike would have expected for Harvey to bring to an event like this. Tall and thin with a curtain of dark, glossy hair, she looks like she’s right at home rubbing elbows with New York’s elite.

Harvey and his date are talking with a group of people Mike vaguely recognizes from around the firm. He looks like he’s hit his schmoozing stride, and even with an entire party between them, Mike can see how the others hang on to every word Harvey speaks. He has that effect on everyone, Mike marvels. Whether it’s a client or a courtroom or a hotdog vendor, Harvey can captivate anyone with the way he speaks, the things he says. It’s no wonder he’s become such a success in a profession that is built upon one’s proficiency in talking your opponent in circles.

Whether by chance or the weight of his gaze, Harvey glances in his direction. Mike fights the urge to duck behind a waiter carrying a tray of fancy finger foods. He’s meant to be here, he’s a guest, but Harvey seeing him is surprisingly not unlike being caught sneaking down the stairs by Grammy on her bridge nights.

They make eye contact, and for once Harvey doesn’t look like he’s annoyed by Mike’s mere presence. He holds Mike’s gaze for a second, two seconds, before turning back to his conversation partners and shaking their hands. Then he’s moving, his date gliding at his elbow, and soon enough they’re standing in front of Mike.

“Enjoying the party?” Harvey’s voice is cheerful and warm. He’s obviously enjoying it, and who wouldn’t with such company?

“It’s great as far as benefits go,” Mike replies. “Which I guess doesn’t mean a lot since this the first one I’ve attended without being part of the catering staff.”

Harvey’s date laughs, a soft sound like wind chimes, and lifts a hand to Harvey’s forearm. “Aren’t you going to introduce us, Harvey?”

Harvey grins. “My apologies. Hannah, this is Michael Ross, my associate.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Michael,” Hannah says. She slips her slighter hand into his when he offers it and they shake.

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Mike replies. “Please, call me Mike.”

“Mike, then.” Hannah smiles warmly and tips her head toward Harvey. “Harvey’s told me so much about you, Mike.”

“Really?” Mike looks at Harvey. “So much?”

“Well, he’s mentioned you by name,” Hannah concedes. “For Harvey, that’s gushing.”

Harvey rolls his eyes, but the smile is there nonetheless.

“I knew introducing the two of you would be to my benefit,” he sighs.

They all laugh, and Mike decides he can do this. He can socialize with his boss and his boss’s date. It’s what he’s expected to do, after all. This is just another lesson from Harvey Specter’s School of Hard Knocks: How to Schmooze People You Don’t Know. Though he should probably call it ‘networking’ rather than schmoozing. Harvey would probably say that only lawyers who have to advertise on television schmooze. Lawyers at Pearson Hardman network.

Either way, Mike decides to give it a chance.

Until Jessica Pearson appears.

“Harvey, Mr. Ross,” she says in greeting. Jessica in a cocktail dress is somehow even more intimidating than Jessica in a power suit. Perhaps it’s the knowledge that she could just as easily start dancing over your corpse once she’s killed you. “I hate to take you away from your lovely date, Harvey, but Samuel Weston is here, and we owe him a conversation.”

Harvey’s shoulders slump, just a little, and Mike can almost see the mantle of New York’s best closer settle over him. He nods, and turns to Hannah.

“I’m afraid I’ve got some business to take care of,” he says, leaning forward to kiss her cheek. “I’ll be back to rescue you before you know it.”

“Don’t worry about me,” she replies, giving Mike a sidelong glance. “I’m sure your Boy Wonder and I can stir up a little trouble for ourselves.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Harvey says and then he’s disappearing through the crowd with Jessica.

“I don’t know about you, Mike, but all of this talking has made me a bit thirsty,” Hannah says. She slips her arm into his just as easily as it had been in Harvey’s.  
“How about you buy a girl a drink?”

“It’s an open bar,” Mike replies.

“Well, in that case, I’m buying.”

When both of them have a gin and tonic clutched in their hand, they snag an empty table near the railing and sit out facing the city.

“How long have you known Harvey?” Mike asks, playing with the swizzle stick.

“Harvey and I go way back,” Hannah replies. She sips her drink. “I met him around the same time I married his brother.”

“His—“ Mike knows its unattractive, but that doesn’t stop him from doing his best impression of a largemouth bass. The idea that Harvey has a brother, that that brother has a wife, is something that he can’t quite wrap his head around. “You’re his sister-in-law?”

“In the flesh.”

“I didn’t even know Harvey had any family,” Mike says. “I always just thought he sprang up from a hole in the ground wearing a three-piece suit.”

Hannah chuckles softly. “They’re very close, actually, but they’ve been through a lot together, so if Harvey seems tightlipped about his baby brother, it’s just because he’s protective.”

“What happened?”

“Not my story to tell,’ Hannah replies with a definite shake of her head. “That’s up to Harvey to say if he ever decides he wants you to know.”

That’s fair, Mike supposes. He certainly has things he doesn’t share with people on the street, things that are difficult or even painful at times to talk about. It’s never occurred to him that Harvey, who is always so put together, has his own skeletons in his very expensive closets. Then again, maybe that’s why Harvey is particular with the suits he wears and the cars he drives and the women he dates. It’s a façade, a suit of armor that Harvey Specter dawns each and every morning before he leaves his condo.

“Can you at least tell me what this fabled brother is named?”

“Marcus.” Hannah snaps open her clutch and extracts a slim smartphone. Swiping her finger across the screen, she offers the phone to Mike. “Here he is with our two kids.”

“Harvey’s an uncle?” For some reason, that’s even harder to believe than Harvey being someone’s older brother. He reaches out and accepts the phone. On its illuminated screen, a man who looks so much like Harvey it’s unbelievable smiles up at Mike. There’s a little girl in his lap, several years older than Mal, and a sleeping infant in his arms. “Holy crap, they’re cute.”

“Thank you,” Hannah says. “That’s Eliza—she’s eight—and Elliot is the little butterball, there. What about you? What’s your son’s name?”

“Malcolm, he’s three.” And then Mike has his own phone out and is shoving it underneath Hannah’s nose. The wallpaper is a picture is a selfie he had taken while they were at the zoo. You can just barely see the elephants behind them as Mike and Mal both smile up at the camera. “This is us at the zoo on his birthday.”

“He’s adorable,” Hannah coos. “Both of you, actually. Look at those eyes.”

Mike can feel the heat of his blush against the back of his neck. He only hopes Hannah can’t see it in the darkness.

"So what does it take to convince Harvey Specter to accompany his sister-in-law to a hospital benefit? Why not your husband?”

“I’m a surgeon for the hospital, actually. Marcus was going to come, but Elliot’s got an ear infection. Harvey had to make a showing for the firm, so we decided to carpool.”

“And by carpool, she means hitch a ride with my driver.”

Harvey’s back, smiling down at them, and to Mike’s immense surprise, places a hand on each of their shoulders.

“Am I going to regret introducing the two of you yet?” he asks.

“Don’t worry, Specter,” Hanna says, patting his hand. “I only spilled some of your secrets. Mike, here, though has revealed very little. He’s got the loyal puppy routine down pat.”

“Everything taken care of?” Mike asks, choosing to ignore the puppy analogy. It must be a family thing. He’s hopes to God that it’s not actually a Mike thing. “Sam Weston good and wooed?”

“Bagged and tagged,” Harvey answers. “I expect the engagement letter in my inbox tomorrow.”

“Harvey, it’s a party,” Hannah chides. “Mike’s having fun. Can that wait until Monday?”

Rolling his eyes, Harvey nudges his sister-in-law with his hip.

“Alright,” he says, “Fine. Mike, you’ve got until Monday to have that engagement letter on my desk.”

He looks down at Hannah. “Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” Hannah retorts. Standing up, she pushes a lock of hair behind her ear and taps her wrist. “Harvey, I think I think I’ve put in enough face time for my bosses to be happy. I’m headed home to take care of a sick baby. Are you going to be alright getting home by yourself?”  
Another eye roll. “Yes, Mom.”

Leaning over, Hannah pecks him on the cheek and, again to Mike’s surprise, presses her lips against Mike’s cheek as well.

“It was lovely to meet you, Mike. I hope you have a good evening.”  
And then she’s gone, leaving Mike alone with Harvey.

“Are you having fun?” Harvey asks, taking Hannah’s empty chair.

“I guess. I’ve never liked things like this much, though.”

“Well, get used to it,” Harvey says. “These things are how lawyers make contacts and gain clients. This won’t be the last time you’ll have to dig out the tux.”

“Joy.”

They sit together in a surprisingly comfortable silence, content just to watch the party continuing around them. Mike sips at his drink, and Harvey picks up Hannah’s abandoned glass and takes a sip of his own. It’s pleasant, somehow, just sitting there together, something they don’t get a lot of when they are working together in the office. 

And eventually, the party winds down. Guests filter off the patio in small groups until the only ones left are those who are either still conducting business or are too drunk to realize when they’ve overstayed their welcome. Jessica Pearson is one of the former, and it is only until Harvey receives a satisfied nod from her that he even thinks about leaving.

“Alright, let’s get out of here,” he says. He stands from his chair and buttons his tuxedo.

“We’re leaving?” Mike asks. He looks down at his glass and notices that it’s empty. Along with three others. It would appear that he is one of the ones who stay too long at the fair. When did he even order the other two drinks?

“Yes, now get up,” Harvey says, jerking his thumb up. “I’ll have Ray drop you off at your place.”

“I live in Brooklyn,” Mike protests. He stands to his feet, absolutely does not stumble, thank you very much, and trails after Harvey as they start for the glass doors. “That’s, like, way out of the way for you guys.”

“I don’t think you should be allowed to try to catch a cab in your state.”

“I’m not drunk,” Mike insists. “I might be very, very close to tipsy, but I’m not drunk.”

“The three empty glasses on the table say otherwise.”

“You finished one of those yourself, jerk!”

 

Once out on the street, Harvey produces his phone from his pocket and fires off a quick text.

“Ray is just around the block,” he says, scrolling through his email. “He’ll be here in five.”

Mike nods and leans against a light pole. It may be possible that he is just the tiniest, slightest bit more intoxicated than he had thought. More buzzed, really, and the happy kind of buzz where you feel just the tiniest bit warm and friendly. Still, he’s been on his feet all day, and the pole is rather convenient.

“You’ll ruin your tux if you do that,” Harvey says. He reaches out and grips Mike’s elbow, tugging him away from the pole. Mike isn’t ready to support himself just yet, and he stumbles right into Harvey.

Harvey catches him, wrapping an arm around his waist, steadying him on his feet.

“I thought you said you weren’t drunk?”

“’m not,” Mike murmurs. “You pulled me.”

“And yet you haven’t tried to stand up,” Harvey points out.

He’s right. Mike is still pressed up against Harvey’s side, but Harvey’s arm is still around his waist and not loosely either. So Mike may be operating under some very mixed signals colored by an alcoholic buzz when he decides what he wants to do next.

He kisses Harvey.

He leans forward and presses their lips together. It’s an uneven kiss, and their teeth clack together just a little bit, but it’s a kiss. A kiss that up until now Mike hasn’t even been aware he wants.

On the other side of it, however, Harvey stiffens. His shoulders tense and his arms fall down to his sides. It’s like kissing a cardboard cutout, Mike thinks, a cutout that happens to look like—

 

“Holy shit,” Mike gasps, wrenching himself away from Harvey. He wipes the back of his sleeve across his lips and stares down at the saliva on the expensive dark fabric. “Holy shit!”

“Mike—”

“I just kissed you.”

“You did,” Harvey agrees gently.

“That was stupid.”

“Possibly.”

Harvey watches him closely, waiting as Mike descends into an inevitable freak out.

“Oh, god,” Mike groans. “What did I just do?”

“Mike—”

“I’m so stupid,” he hisses. He lifts his hands to his face, pushing the heels of his palms against his eyes. “So, so stupid.”

“Mike, it’s not—”

“Don’t tell me it’s not a big deal! You’re my boss, and I just kissed you. That’s harassment! I’ve just sexually harassed my boss!”

Harvey steps forward, closing the distance between them, and when Mike tries to move back, to shrink away from him, he reaches out and grabs Mike by both biceps.

“Mike, look at me.”

When he does, Harvey see the watery tears threatening to fall. Mike looks at him with a reluctant, heavy-lidded gaze.

“You should know, kid, that it’s only sexual harassment if it’s unwanted. That was your first case if you’ll remember.”

“Is this where you fire me for having a bad attitude?”

Harvey chuckles. “No, this is where I tell you that I don’t have a problem with the kiss.”

“You… I don’t—”

“Mike.” The way Harvey says his name calms Mike more than anything. The tension bleeds out of his body, and he sags toward Harvey.

“You’ve still got your job,” Harvey assures him. “I would never fire you for having feelings.”

“But you don’t have feelings.”

“I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve,” Harvey chides. “There’s a difference. What I’m trying to say, Mike, is that this cannot happen. It’s not going to happen.”

The look on Mike’s face makes Harvey wish he could recant, to take that genie and put it back into its bottle. But he can’t, he won’t, and it’s so important for their working relationship that Mike understand that. Whatever feelings that may exist between them—and there are feelings, it would seem—are like a live grenade. They could destroy everything that they’ve built for themselves in the last several weeks and everything they will build together in the future. Harvey isn’t wrong when he says Mike might even be a greater attorney that he is. If they pull the pin on this, a relationship between a senior partner and his associate, it would destroy Mike’s career before it even takes off, so Harvey knows that he has to jump on top of that grenade before it can explode.

“I’m such an idiot,” Mike moans. He swipes at his eyes, wiping the tears away. “Harvey, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Harvey insists. Once he’s sure Mike can stand on his own, he steps back and straightens the jacket of his tuxedo. “We’re fine. But I think it’s time for you to go home to your son.”

“Right,” Mike sniffs. “Yeah. I should go.”

“Ray will take you home,” Harvey says, and sure enough, the familiar black car pulls up to the curb as if Harvey speaks it into existence.

“I can’t take your driver.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll catch a cab.”

Mike nods sullenly, moving to open the door.

Harvey reaches out and squeezes his associate’s shoulder.

“Get some sleep, Mike,” he says, making sure that Mike looks him in the eye. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

And then he’s ushering Mike into the back of Ray’s town car and watching it pull off into the night.

**

 

At home in the safety of his condo, Harvey sheds his tuxedo and pulls on an old Harvard shirt and a pair of sleep pants, but he doesn’t go to bed. Instead, he opens up one of the many expensive bottles of liquor on the bar shelf and pours himself a liberal amount of amber liquid.

Mike kissed him.

It makes Harvey’s stomach turn, but not for the reasons he knows Mike must have assumed. Theirs is a delicate situation to begin with. If they were to step out of the bounds of their current relationship, if they tried to be something more than a senior partner and his associate and it failed? Harvey doesn’t even want to think about how messy things would become. How many people would be hurt if things fell through? Their working relationship would be ruined. He hopes they would be able to work past it, to compartmentalize their lives enough that they could strike up some semblance of a functioning partnership, but Harvey knows the odds of that happening are slim to none. Mike would be more likely to find another partner to work with, someone like Louis. That is, if he didn’t quit all together.

On the other hand, what if it worked?

Was Harvey even capable of something long term? Was he ready to settle down with someone for the long haul, set up house and play the happy family? He has never seen himself as the white picket fence and a dog, mowing the lawn on Sundays, grilling on the back porch in the summers.

And there is Malcolm to think about as well. Harvey genuinely likes Mal, more than he ever thought possible, but that doesn’t mean he’s ready to be the kid’s dad. If he dates Mike, he dates his son, too, and Harvey isn’t sure if he’s prepared for that much responsibility. The longer he spends with them, the more attached Mal would get—and who is he kidding, Harvey can feel himself getting attached to the little boy already—and what would happen then?

No, it’s better to nip this in the bud. It isn’t in the cards so much, they’re not even playing the same game. Harvey Specter cannot date Mike Ross.

He just finishes pouring his second glass when the doorbell rings. Leaving the glass on the coffee table, Harvey stands up and pads over to the front door.  
“Scottie?”

“Hello, Harvey.” Dana Scott tips her head as she smiles, the corners of her mouth curling.

“What are you doing here?”

She steps closer, running her fingertips along the door jam. “I just dropped by to see if you were up for a little…celebration.”

In truth, Harvey’s not in the mood for a celebration of any kind. Having reached a consensus on their merger talks, he and Scottie would normally be celebrating in a very specific way if it were any other time, but not tonight. Not after the day that Harvey has had. He’s drained, more than he has been in a long time, and it has absolutely nothing to do with the case.

“Actually, Scottie, I thought I’d call it a night,” Harvey replies. “We’ve both had a long day, and I’d turn in.”

Which isn’t the truth at all. What he really wants is to go back to is the three fingers of Scotch sweating a ring onto his coffee table as they speak, but he knows that Scottie would only insist that he pour her a glass to match. Better to beg off due to exhaustion than accidentally inviting her in for a nightcap.

“Poor Harvey,” Scotties tuts. Her hands fall to her waist, and for the first time Harvey notices what’s she’s wearing: a black trench coat, the short kind that offers  
more style than practicality. Her fingers, nails painted a bright, fresh red, trace the knot cinched at her waist. “We facilitated a major merger today, Harvey. Your client is happy. My client is happy. Don’t you think we deserve to be happy, too?”

“I am happy,” Harvey says. “Happy with going to bed. I’ll see you in the morning to finalize everything.”

“Oh, come on, Harvey,” Scottie huffs, and he can hear the impatience creeping into her tone of voice. “I’ve got a feeling tonight will be the best we’ve ever had. I know I’m feeling the best I’ve ever felt.”

And before he can protest any further, she’s kissing him. Her hands are around his face and she’s pressing their lips together. Out of sheer force of habit, Harvey kisses back. He reaches out and wraps his hands around her waist, pulling her body flush against his.

They fit together as they always have, bodies slotting against each other like the pieces of a machine. Each side carrying out its function to achieve the desired result. And maybe that’s what they are, really, just a machine, gears that grind together. They may be professional rivals, and they may have completely different approaches to the practice of law, but in this, Harvey and Scottie have always been insanely, incredibly compatible. 

And maybe, Harvey realizes in the moment, that’s the only thing this has ever been about. Compatibility. If it works, why fix it?

But what if Harvey wants something…more?

“No.” He pushes her away, gently but firmly, keeping her at arm’s length.

“Excuse me?” Scottie looks up at him like he’s grown a second head, but Harvey presses on.

“I can’t. I’m sorry, but it’s not going to happen tonight.”

“Are you giving me the ‘honey, I have a headache’ speech?” Scottie demands. “I can’t believe this!”

“Believe it or don’t, Scottie. Either way, good night.”

But, as Harvey goes to close the door, he catches movement over Scottie’s shoulder and down the hallway.

Looking at Mike now, seeing the obvious pain etched on his face is almost enough to make Harvey physically sick. His stomach clenches, and he swallows thickly as he watches Mike watch him. The tears are back, but they’ve brought along a friend. Mike is shaking, vibrating in place, and Harvey can only watch as it gets worse.

“Mike—“

Scottie whips around, clutching her trench coat shut, but Mike has already seen what lies beneath.

“I found your wallet in the car,” Mike says, voice a trembling, roiling wreck. He opens his mouth to say something else, decides against it, and his mouth snaps shut. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out Harvey’s wallet and drops it onto the floor.

Without another word, Mike turns and disappears back down the hallway, and for the second time that night, Harvey is forced to watch him leave.

**


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things don't quite work out like Scottie or Kyle thought they would.

Chapter Four:

“You hired the kid from the zoo?”

Marcus’s arm snaps forward, and the softball hits home in the middle of Harvey’s glove with a THWAP!

“He went to law school,” Harvey says. Laying his fingers along the stitches, he draws his arm back and fires it back toward his brother. “He’s part of the bar association and everything.”

“No, no, I believe you when you says he’s a lawyer. I’m just saying it’s a little out of character for you.”

Marcus isn’t wrong, Harvey admits. He has never been known for his generosity, but his gamble has, in his opinion, paid off. Mike has been instrumental in the closings of some very high-risk cases for the firm, and Harvey knows he has had to push himself farther than he ever has before. And while Harvey may be frugal with his compliments—with anyone let alone Mike—he has to say that he is extremely pleased with the strides the kid has made.

Not only has Mike brought in Tom Keller, a client worth millions, he also humiliated Louis in the process, a feat that has always been a huge check-plus in Harvey’s gradebook. McKernon motors will stay on American soil, and they have managed to clear an innocent woman of inside trading. All in all, Mike’s first couple of weeks at the firm have been a success.

Which isn’t to say that things are perfect. As far has his amazing brain takes him, Mike has a propensity for letting his humanity get the better of him. That’s something you learn as you go, so Harvey isn’t worried. Much.

“Mike’s on his way to becoming a talented attorney,” Harvey says, snatching the softball out of the air.

“Mike,” Marcus echoes. “That’s his name?”

“Mike Ross.”

“And the boy?”

“Malcolm,” Harvey answers. “He’s three.”

“Ouch, tough age. I can’t imagine trying to raise a toddler by myself. The kid gets my vote simply for that.”

“That seems to be the general impression around the office.

“I bet ole Mike’s got all those paralegals tripping over themselves to fill the position of step-mom,” Marcus laughs.

Harvey wouldn’t know, but just the idea causes something within him to rankle. Mike is Harvey’s associate and should be at Harvey’s beck and call. He doesn’t have time to be chasing paralegals.

Not that Mike has any interest in them.

“Uh-oh. Do I detect jealousy, big brother?”

Harvey glares and, putting a little more heat behind the ball than he really should, snaps it straight at his brother. Marcus catches, but barely. He pulls off the glove and shakes out his wrist.

“Alright, alright,” he chuckles. “No jealousy, then.”

“None.” Harvey tucks his own glove beneath his armpit.

“Hey, ladies! Is anyone going to warm me up?”

The brothers turn toward the middle of the field where Eliza stands on the pitcher’s mound, hands planted on her hips. Her purple softball jersey is already dusty despite the fact that the game hasn’t even started yet. She glares at them from beneath the brim of her cap.

“She watches too much television,” Harvey mutters.

“Entirely,” Marcus agrees. “Oh, well. Duty calls. Unless you’ve reconsidered my offer? Assistant coach would look on your jersey.”

“Go warm up your pitcher, coach.”

Leaving his younger brother to his team of squealing eight year old girls, Harvey heads for the stands where all of the other moms, dads, and general spectators of the local seven-to-ten year old softball league are sitting. Half-way up in the bleachers, Hannah tries to entertain a fussy Elliot. She, like her husband and daughter, wears the team colors, but she manages to pull off this particular shade of purple with more aplomb.

With her curtain of inky black hair and sharp, bright eyes, Hannah is a knock-out in most rooms. Harvey has often ribbed Marcus about somehow hoodwinking such a bright and beautiful woman into being his wife. Her beauty is eclipsed only by her talent with a scalpel.

“Looking good thee, assistant coach,” Hannah says as Harvey sits down beside her. In her lap Elliot whines and wriggles, uncomfortable in the heat of the midday sun. He has a small, white bucket hat pulled over his head to protect him from the sun, but he still fusses. Opening his hands, Harvey accepts the fussy infant, balancing him upright on his knee.

“Not assistant coach,” Harvey protests, dandling his nephew on his knee. “You couldn’t pay me enough to deal with those little monsters.”

On the field, past the chain-link backdrop, twenty girls run round the in-field as Marcus tries to corral them into something that resembles a softball team.

“Harvey Specter, undone by a bunch of little girls,” Hannah whistles. “What would your clients think?”

“They would over even more money due to the solid head on my shoulders,” Harvey replies. He continues to bounce Elliot, keeping a firm hand around his pudgy middle. 

“You told Marcus about Mike.”

“Was I not supposed to?”

“No, it wasn’t a secret.”

“But—“

“But nothing.”

“But you didn’t want him to know that the Tin Man has finally grown a heart?” Hannah bumps her shoulder against Harvey’s.

“Thanks, Dorothy.” Elliot gurgles, wrapping a hand around Harvey’s finger and pulling it toward his mouth. It should bother him, the amount of drool his nephew is capable of producing, but Harvey can’t find it in him to be annoyed He chooses to believe it’s how Elliot expresses his love toward his favorite uncle. He bends over the baby and smiles. “And thank you, Toto, for the slobber.”

“Get used to it,” Hannah says. “When you’ve got gets kids of your own, you’re going to want to hide any of your suits you don’t want ruined.”

Kids.

Mike has a kid. A kid that, despite himself, Harvey can’t help but really, genuinely like. Malcolm’s time in his office last week had been one of the most enjoyable days Harvey has spent in the office in a long time. He’s well behaved, for a kid raised almost entirely by Mike, with a bright and bubbly personality that Harvey finds incredibly entertaining.

“He kissed me,” Harvey admits.

“Oh.” Hannah’s expression is neutral, like she’s waiting for Harvey to tell her how to feel about it. “Um, when?”

Harvey sighs. “After the benefit while we were waiting for a cab. He kissed me.”

“And that’s a bad thing.”

“Yes.”

“Because you don’t like him like that.”

“No,” Harvey insists. “Because I’m his boss.”

“But you do like him like that?”

“Yes—No! I don’t. I shouldn’t.”

“But you do.”

Did Harvey? Mike was certainly attractive. Slim with a good, kind face. If they had met any other way, if Harvey hadn’t hired him as his associate, he could definitely see himself pursuing Mike in a completely different fashion.

“He’s mad at me.” He tugs Elliot closer, finding a simple pleasure in the baby’s comforting weight against him.

“For turning him down?”

“For catching me with Scottie a half hour later.”

Hannah’s eyes roll skyward, and Harvey sighs. She’s never gotten along with Dana Scott, not since some slight during their first meeting years ago. Harvey doesn’t hold it against her. They’re all adults, they’re allowed to not care for someone, and as long as they are civil to each other during the few times a decade they’re together, Harvey doesn’t mind.

“That woman,” Hannah sighs. “And you? Don’t you know how to lock the front door?”

“We were in the hallway,” Harvey mutters.

“Harvey.” She shakes her head.

“It was just a kiss,” he insists. “She wanted more, but I stopped it.”

“Before or after Mike interrupted?”

“Does it matter?”

Hannah doesn’t answer. They sit, watching as the umpire calls the start of the game. Eliza takes the mound, lifting her glove in front of your face.

“Why did you stop?” Hannah asks. “I mean, you and Scottie have been on and off for years.”

“Maybe because I don’t want to be on and off for years anymore,” Harvey replied reluctantly.

“What do you what?”

Harvey fights his initial response, what he really wants to say. That he wants Mikes, that he wants to see where things might go if he would only left himself let them.

“I want Mike to become the best lawyer he can be,” he allows. “And that’s not possible if he’s distracted.”

“Never mind that it might make you both happy.”

Harvey doesn’t reply.

Down on the field, Eliza strikes out her first batter of the game.

 

*

“We need to talk about what happened last night.”

Mike seriously considered slamming the door in Harvey’s face, but he has a sleeping toddler in the next room.

“Nothing happened if I remember correctly,” Mike replies. He tries to keep his voice low, quiet. For as subdued as Mal is when awakened in the morning he’s an absolute monster if it’s the middle of the night.

“Mike—“

“It’s fine, Harvey.” Harvey recognizes the tone in Mike’s voice, even after such a short time of working together. It’s a tone that says that things are anything but fine but Mike would rather ignore them than address them.

“Absolutely fine,” Mike insists.

“It’s not,” Harvey says. “You saw something that I know you didn’t want to see.”

“Something you didn’t want me to see, you mean. There’s a difference.”

Harvey’s jaw clenches. “Semantics.”

“We’re lawyers, all we do is semantics.”

Harvey raises an eyebrow, and Mike, heaving an exasperated sigh, pulls the front door open and allows Harvey inside.

This is the first time Harvey has been to Mike’s apartment, and while he’s not ashamed of where he lives Mike does experience some form of nervous anxiety as he watches Harvey consider his humble surroundings. This apartment has been Mike’s home since he brought his son to New York. It may not be what Harvey is used to, but it’s the only home that Mal has ever known. His son’s first steps were in the kitchen, his first words spoken on this thrift shop couch. It might be considered slumming it by Pearson Hardman standards, but Mike will not apologize for the way he has provided for his son.

Harvey finishes his cursory inspection and turns to Mike.

“We need to talk.”

“Talk about what?” Mike huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. His voice is still low, but now it carries with it a growing, quiet hostility. “Talk about how we kissed, but you said that nothing could ever happen with between us? Or how I found you making out with opposing counsel in the middle of the hallway?”

“Mike—”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice what was under the trench coat,” Mike hisses. He stands to his feet, jabbing his finger toward Harvey. “I get it, okay? You don’t want to be with me? Fine. You’d rather screw around with Dana Scott than slum it with the first year associate who also happens to be a single dad? I guess that’s your right. But do not stand there and lie to me, Harvey. Okay? I think I’ve earned better than that.”

“You have,” Harvey replies quietly. “Earned better than that. I owe you an explanation.

“You owe me the truth.”

Harvey looks at Mike, meets his eyes and marvels at the fiery indignation he finds starting back at him. It’s the fire that he knows will turn Mike into a lawyer the likes no one at Pearson Hardman has seen before, a lawyer who may just give even Harvey a run for his money.

One day. If they can successfully navigate the thorny situation in which they have mired themselves.

“Can we sit?” Harvey asks. He’s not stalling, he isn’t, but this conversation would be a lot better if they were sitting down. Mike nods toward the couch, and Harvey sits down on the edge of the cushion. Mike takes a seat on the cluttered coffee table.

“The truth,” Harvey says, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, “is what I told you last night at the benefit. We can’t be together.”  
Mike’s eyes flash, and he opens his mouth to respond, but Harvey cuts him off with a shake of his head.

“We can’t be together, but not for the reasons you think, Mike. I just gave you a job, the first real chance you’ve had at being something since you got off track. I just don’t want you confusing gratitude for affection.”

“I’m not confused,” Mike insists.

“Maybe not about some things, but this…You’re trying to put all of your eggs into one basket, and I don’t want them all to fall. Especially if that basket is me.”

They watch each other, waiting for the other to speak, to break the awkward silence that has fallen over Mike’s living room. They’ve been an unbeatable team since Mike became Harvey’s associate, and this point of contention between them leaves a bad taste in Harvey’s mouth. There’s potential for things to sour, to fester and rankle, and Harvey swallows past the fear to look Mike in the eye.

“I’m not saying ‘not ever,’” he says. “I’m just saying ‘not now.’”

“Harvey, don’t—”

“I’m serious, Mike,” Harvey insists. “You’ve just gotten back on your feet. Please don’t try to run before you’re ready.”

Mike exhales sharply, running a hand over the crown of his head. His shoulders slump, head bowing, and for a brief moment, Harvey feels as though he has stamped out whatever spark Mike had earlier.

Eventually, Mike nods.

“Alright,” he says slowly. “I get it.”

“You do?”

“I do.” He sits up. “So, let’s move on.”

“Exactly,” Harvey says with no small amount of relief. He leans back into the couch, sinking into the cushion. “Are you ready for your mock trial tomorrow?”

“I’ve got it,” Mike replies, waving him off. “Enough of my fake lawyer problem. Let’s deal with your real one.”

“Mock trial is not fake,” Harvey chides good-naturedly. “It’s an opportunity to show—”

“To show the senior partners what I can do, yeah, yeah,” Mike huffs. There’s a smile there along with the annoyance, and Harvey relaxes even more knowing that things between them have settled back into something…manageable. Harvey will take that. For now

“How were negotiations with Dana Scott?”

Rolling his eyes, Harvey runs his fingers over the fringe on a throw pillow. “She’s doing everything she can to tip this merger in her favor.”

“Well, from what I saw last night, her merger talks look more like a hostile takeover.”

Harvey stops fidgeting. “What did you say?”

“Sorry,” Mike apologies, looking down at his bare feet. “That was—”

“No, not about that,” Harvey snaps. He sits forward again, raising a finger. “Last night, Scottie said something.”

“By all means, give me the running commentary.”

Harvey raises an eyebrow.

“Sorry,” Mike says. “What did she say?”

“She wanted to celebrate,” Harvey continues. “She said she felt like we were going to be the best we’ve ever been.”

“Harvey.”

“She’s hidden something from me in the negotiations,” Harvey says. “She thinks she’s won, and that’s why she came to my condo. It was her victory lap.”

“What does that mean?” Mike asks, and for the first time that night, he isn’t focused on what happened between them, totally focused on the case.

“She screwed me, and I want to know how.”

 

It takes Mike twenty minutes to find what they are looking for. In that time, Harvey has thrown his jacket over the back of Mike’s couch, rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, and dug into the copy of the merger paperwork Mike produces from his messenger bag. His hair is falling down in front of his eyes, the gel having worn away, and he rolls a pen between his teeth as he reads.

It is the most un-Harvey-like Mike has ever seen. He’s used to three-piece suits and Italian leather shoes. Not jeans and a soft, gray Henley. This Harvey is dangerous, this   
Harvey is one that Mike could see himself leaning over the mounds of merger paper to press their lips together. To push everything to the floor and crawl into his lap and find out just how soft that shirt really is.

Except that, despite what Harvey might think, Mike has learned his lesson. He takes a deep breath and focuses on the screen in his lap.

“You were right,” Mike says, waving his tablet in the air. “Vega’s company has been snatching up as much of Debeque’s stock as they can.

“A hostile takeover,” Harvey sighs. He accepts the tablet from Mike and flicks his finger across the screen.

“But why disguise it as a merger?”

“To look at our private books.” He sets the tablet down and leans back into Mike’s couch. “Scotty pretended she didn’t want to hand over their books so I wouldn’t noticed when she asked for ours. She tricked me.”

“And she knew it would work because…?”

Harvey’s jaw clenches. “I taught her how to do it.”

Any other night, Mike would capitalize on the great Harvey Specter getting one-upped by an ex-girlfriend, but despite what Harvey says, he has learned some things. This thing, it’s a sore spot for both of them, and if they let it, it will fester, so Mike chooses the wiser path and keeps it about work.

“So they see how strong Debeque’s company is, and they’ll be gunning for it now.”

Harvey nods. He pushes Mike’s tablet back across the coffee table and taps on its screen. “Except there’s not going to be anything to gun for.”

“What are you talking about?” Mike takes up the tablet and scans its display.

“The crown jewel defense,” Harvey replies. “We’re going to offload as many of Debeque’s top-earning properties as we can to make ourselves as undesirable as possible.”

“Like chopping off an arm to save the body,” Mike says, getting it. “I’ll flag the properties we need to get rid of.”

“Daddy?”

All talk of business drops as they both turn toward the bedroom. Malcolm, wearing a worn t-shirt and a pull-up, huddles in the doorway, a stuffed dog clutched in his hands.

“Buddy, what are you doing out of bed?”

“Loud,” Mal mumbles, rubbing at his eye with a fat fist.

It’s only then that thunder shakes the apartment, and Mike and Harvey look up at the ceiling. They’ve been so focused on their work, combing through every line and letter of the merger talks that they haven’t noticed that a thunderstorm has rolled in.

The picture frames rattle on the mantelpiece, and Mal whimpers.

“C’mere, baby,” Mike says, reaching out.  
Mal darts across the floor and clambers up into the space between Harvey and Mike. He glances at Harvey, a bleary, barely-interested appraisal, before burrowing into his father’s side.

Harvey considers them for a long moment, watching Mike offering comfort to his frightened son and watching Mal soak up that comfort like a sponge. He feels like he’s intruding, more than he already has, and he drags his eyes away and focuses on the paperwork in his hands.

The client’s not going to like it, Mike’s right about that, but even a real estate mogul like Debeque will understand that if he wants to keep control of his company, a company he’s built up from scratch with his own two hands, then he will have to be willing to make sacrifices. Not that Harvey is expecting that they will have to actually sell off his properties. Threat of sanctions is worse than actual sanctions, and the fact that Debeque would even consider selling off his crown jewels should scare Vega enough that he’s willing to back off.

Lightning flashes outside the window, but the sound of thunder is farther off. The storm’s moving on.

“Would you like something to drink?”

“What?”

“A drink,” Mike repeats. He’s watching Harvey even as he runs his fingers through the crown of Mal’s hair.  
Harvey sits up, glancing at his watch. “It’s late, actually. I should get out of here and let you get him back to bed.”  
Mike hesitates, looking as though he wants to say something, but instead closes his mouth and nods.

“Yeah, I...I should get him to bed.”

Harvey returns the nod and gathers up the paperwork. “I need this ready by Monday. Can you handle that?”

Shifting Mal so that he’s laid out over the couch, Mike stands up to help.

“I’ll have a list of properties on your desk first thing,” he says. He picks up Harvey’s jacket and holds it out. “I’ll see you on Monday, Harvey.”

Starting for the door, Harvey shrugs into his jacket.

“Monday, then.”

*

Without the weirdness with Harvey handing over his head, Mike is able to go into his mock trial with a clear head. Still, that doesn’t prevent Kyle from almost blindsiding him during the opening statements.

Almost.

They may be old Harvard buddies, but Mike isn’t stupid. He knows what Kyle is going to do almost as soon as Kyle does, so Mike’s not surprised at all when Kyle denies any and all knowledge of a settlement agreement in open court.

“In that case, Your Honor, the defendant would like to countersue,” Mike announces, springing his own trap. He stands to his feet and buttons his jacket. It’s a gesture borrowed from Harvey, and Mike uses to make himself as comfortable in front of a judge as Harvey is.

“On what grounds?” Kyle demands. He looks at Mike, eyes narrowed. Mike can almost see the gears grinding behind his forehead. Kyle is good, but Mike’s better.

“I believe that’s my line,” Jessica Pearson says in a lofty tone.

“Defamation of Character. The plaintiff’s video negatively impacted the perception of Lena Lunders and impaired her financial well-being.”

Kyle scrambles to recover his footing. His cheeks start to turn red. Mike’s embarrassed him. “In order for there to be defamation the statements made would have to have been false. This isn’t the case.”

Mike smirks. “Prove it.”

“Countersuit allowed,” Jessica says. She produces two heavy binders and sets them onto the table serving as the bench. “The partners have prepared an entire addendum in advance. Counselors, approach.”  
Kyle all but snatches his binder from Jessica’s hands, storming off out of the library with Rachel Zane at his heels. Mike reaches out to accept his, but Jessica pulls it away.

“Nice recovery, thinking on your feet.” Her face darkens suddenly, and Mike realizes his error. “But manipulate this court again, Mr. Ross, and you won’t like what happens next.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Mike says. He tugs gently, and Jessica releases the binder.

*

“That was risky.”

Mike falls into step at Harvey’s side as they make their way out of the library and toward Harvey’s office.

“That was calculated,” Mike rebutted. “Play the man, not the odds. Kyle was prepared for a Wrongful Termination suit. He isn’t ready at all for Defamation of Character, and I just showed that to the court.”

“You also showed the partners that you’re not above manipulating the court into getting your way,” Harvey says. They walk straight past Donna and into Harvey’s office. 

“Don’t get me wrong, manipulate your client and your witnesses all you want, Mike, but judges don’t like it when you tug on their puppet strings. Jessica certainly doesn’t appreciate it.”

“Noted,” Mike says. He drops onto Harvey’s couch and crosses his right leg over his left. “How did things go with Scottie this morning?”  
Harvey’s spins idly in his chair, finger clicking across the keys of his laptop. “On her way back to London with her tail between her legs?”

“Vega went for it?”

Harvey nods. “Everybody gets what they want.”

“Except for Scottie,” Mike chuckles.

“Except for Scottie,” Harvey replies, allowing himself a grin.

“Are you happy about that?”

The way Mike asks, Harvey can tell Mike isn’t sure whether or not he’s even allowed to ask it. And ordinarily, he wouldn’t be. The number of people Harvey allows to take a glimpse of his life outside of the office can really be counted on one hand, but to his immense surprise Mike is quickly insinuating himself into that select few. Mike is honest and genuine in a world where so many people aren’t, can’t be, and that very genuineness is a breath of fresh air, one that Harvey can help but take in a lungful.

Plus, it’s obvious that Mike feels Harvey still owes him something. And Harvey does, but it’s a rope that Harvey won’t allow much more of for much longer.

“Scottie and I have been competing for a long time,” Harvey says carefully. “We’ve been rivals since our time at Harvard.”

“You’ve known each other that long?”

Harvey nods. “We were in the same year.”

“And you’ve been rivals-with-benefits ever since?”

“Something like that,” Harvey replies. He clears his throat, wrapping his knuckles against the glass desk top. “We’re pretty much finished up here for the day. Why don’t you take an early evening?”

Mike sits up. “Really? You’re letting me go early?”

“Early release for good behavior,” Harvey says. He begins straightening the things on his desk, stacking files and returning pens and highlighters to their cup. “Spend the evening with that son of yours.”

“Thanks, Harvey.” Jumping to his feet, Mike starts for the door. He’s almost gone completely before he spins around on his toe. “Oh! I almost forgot. Mal was really upset that you came to our place and you didn’t even say hi to him.”

“Upset? He was barely awake.”

Mike smiles. “He saw you, though, and you didn’t say a single word to him.”

Harvey, not used to being called out on skipping the niceties by a sleeping three year old, isn’t quite sure what to say to that. “I…tell him the next time I see him, I’ll have another joke for him. Two jokes. Ask him if that will make up for my terrible social faux pas.”

Mike smiles again, a wide, blinding grin, and laughs. “I’ll deliver the message.”

Once he’s gone, Harvey decides he’s earned his own early afternoon and begins to pack up his things. He slides his laptop into its case and puts that into his briefcase.   
There’s nothing immediate that needs his attention, everything squared away enough that he can afford to take an evening for himself at home. Not that he would volunteer this information, but there’ a show or two in his Netflix queue that he’s been neglecting because of the hotel merger, and he is more than in the mood to sit down and watch them with takeout from the Greek deli that delivers to his building.

“That was new.”

Donna stands in the doorway, hands on her hips.

“What, Mike running away from more work?” Harvey asks as he stands to his feet and buttons his suit jacket. “I’d say that’s just like Mike.”

“I’m talking you letting him go for the afternoon,” Donna says. She waits by his elbow as he shuts and locks his office before falling into step beside him as they leave. “What happened to working one hundred hours a week?”

“First of all, I told him people thought I worked one hundred hours a week. Second, how in the hell did you hear that? We were in the bullpen when I said that.”

Donna gives him a look, the same look she gives in the face of any non-believing mortal.

“Right,” Harvey sighs, rolling his eyes. “Sorry I asked.”

Donna grins, bats her eyes, and accepts the apology. “Seriously, though. You’ve never let the puppy off the leash this early.”

“Mike’s worked hard the last couple of days. He deserves some down time.”

“Whoa, there,” Donna exclaims, grabbing Harvey’s elbow and pulling him to a stop. She searches his face, eyebrows furrowed. “What’s going on?”

Harvey shrugs. “Can’t a boss give his employee some well-deserved time off?”

“Some bosses can, but I think we both know you are not one of them.” She squeezes his arm gently. “Harvey, what’s up?”

“Donna,” Harvey says. She’s not the only one that can communicate with a look. They’ve worked together long enough that each knows when they are toeing a line the other has drawn in the sand. Donna more so than Harvey, granted, but even now she knows it’s time to back off.

“Alright, alright,” she says, holding up both palms in surrender. “So if you’re gone and the puppy’s gone…”

Harvey smiles. “Have a lovely evening, Donna.”

She winks and snatches up the purse already waiting for her on her desk. Her computer and lights are all off.

“Good night, boss,” she says, waving her fingers over her shoulder, and disappears in a whirl of coppery hair.


End file.
